Old Wounds, Fresh Scars
by kkolmakov
Summary: Ten years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Fili rules Erebor. Thorin's grave is empty, in the catacombs under the mountain, his body having never been found, carried away by the icy river together with the corpse of the Defiler. But old wounds ache, and fresh scars appear, when a man claiming to be Thorin appears in Erebor *ON HIATUS*
1. A Visitor at the Gate

**This will be a short story. Just a few scenes. I'm feeling nostalgic of the good old days now. Rewatching the behind the scenes videos. Sniffling over RA discussing the death scene. Watching the first film. This story is just a vignette of what is in my heart these days.**

 **Love,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

It was ten years after the reclaiming of Erebor when Fili was sitting in his study, and a loud impatient knock came to his door. He didn't even manage to allow a visitor entrance, when the door flew open, and a panting courtier rushed inside.

"My lord… By the gates…"

Fili raised his eyebrows, shocked by the man's impertinence. In the last ten years he had quite forgotten that people could treat him in any other way but as the King Under the Mountain - with the utmost reverence and respect.

"There is a trouble… Well…" the guard continued mumbling, and Fili waited. He was a patient person, and after all, the man clearly had a reason good enough for such odd behaviour. "A Khuzd is trying to enter Erebor. He has no papers allowing him entrance, and… None at all, to think of it… But..." Fili put down his quill and gave the courtier a heavy look. In most cases that was enough to nudge people in the right direction.

"He claims to be your Uncle, King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror..." the guard finally muttered, choking words out of himself. "But he is dead, and has been since the Battle of Five Armies, and we didn't let him in..." Fili was already rushing by the guard, into the passage, when the last words reached his hearing. "And he brought the Long Ones with him, claiming they are his kin..."

* * *

A dozen possibilities rushed through Fili's mind as he was running through the passages. Unlike many of his people, he did possess imagination, and his mind could hardly be called rigid. An imposter? A miracle? A resurrection gifted by the blood of Durin in their family's blood? Each of the ideas brought memories and assumptions with it. He remembered the last stand on the Ravenhill. He remembered the view of Azog's blade piercing his Uncle's body. His own body echoed the pain, the pain of his own wounds. His limbs broken and his own blood leaving a wide trail behind him, when he crawled out of the ruins, and the view of Kili, supported by the Elf, appearing from the other side of the observation ledge.

They looked down then, and saw the two figures on the ice. Two bodies, locked in a combat, linked by two blades, each having entered the chest of the opponent. And then the ice broke under them... and it was over. They could still see the black water running under the scarlet ice, but the waters were calm.

The last memory flashing through Fili's mind as he was turning the corner to enter the visitor's halls was of his mother insisting on holding the funeral for her brother. As much as Fili and Kili argued, she was adamant. And then Gandalf the Grey took Fili aside, and till this day Fili remembered his words.

"She lost another brother." The wizard gave him a soft smile. "She won't see peace until she can grieve properly. And without grief she will not enjoy the joy of having her sons and her home back."

Fili pushed the door, his sensitive hearing already catching the agitated voices inside.

He wouldn't be able to later tell who else was in the room. There were perhaps guards - someone was still talking - and later he would try to remember what the other people who came with his Uncle were doing, but all he could see was the tall figure of Thorin Oakenshield in the center of the room.

* * *

"Fili," the Dwarf spoke in a low voice, and a small smile touched his lips. "Shamukh, sakhkhmi astû galikh." _Greetings, it is good to see you again._ The traditional Khuzdul greeting sounded grave in the suddenly silent room, and Fili took a swift step forward and his hand lay on the Dwarf's shoulder.

He was not an apparition, nor an illusion, and Fili's hand clenched around a fistful of a travelling cloak.

"Uncle..." he breathed out, and a small - so very familiar - tilted nod followed.

"Aye," Thorin Oakenshield answered, and Fili rushed into an embrace.

He felt the same confidence in the movement, the same firm pressure of the man's arm around Fili's shoulders. And just as all those years ago the large hand patted him between his shoulder blades, and he was released.

With the first shock receding, Fili could finally look the Dwarf over. Little seemingly had changed since the day Fili last saw him in Erebor, going into the battle. Perhaps, there was more weight - they had been starved then, sieged in the ruins of the Mountain. The beard was longer, with a short braid at its end, and an ornate bead. There was much more silver in the hair. To think of it, it was now ebony that decorated the silver, and not the other way around.

And then Fili met his Uncle's eyes and recognised the greatest change in the Dwarf. The eyes were glimmering with some sort of calm light that Fili never remembered having seen in them. There was no burden, no pain; just some content merry tranquility.

"How… How are you alive?" Fili spoke, and the familiar smirk curled up one corner of his Uncle's lips.

"Shall I be invited to the home of my people… my lord?" Thorin asked, purposeful pause before the moniker, and Fili flinched.

He then looked around the room, finally paying attention to those surrounding him and Uncle. The courtiers were standing by the wall, pale, disbelief colouring their faces. He could see that they had just as many questions as he did. They were also in anticipation to rush and tell anyone who listened about the return of King Thorin. The situation had to be contained - and quickly.

"Do you wish others to know about your return?" he asked Thorin quickly, not sure how to proceed, and a low chuckle rumbled in Thorin's chest.

"It is for you to decide. It is your Mountain now."

Fili felt confused, and even apprehensive. In the last ten years he was the one to make all decisions, and as much he doubted himself when alone with his thoughts, he had gotten quite used to it. And now, facing the man he had always looked up to, he felt young and inexperienced again. He noticed Thorin watch him, as if he could clearly see Fili's predicament, and then a small figure behind Thorin shifted, and Fili saw a small woman of Men. She wore a travel cloak as well, and held a hand of a small Dwarven boy. The boy had the same dark locks that Fili remembered on his Uncle many years ago, and the eyes shone like cerulean sapphires, curious and lively.

"Welcome back to Erebor, my lord," Fili pronounced slowly, giving Thorin a bow. He kept it light, respectful, but not lowly. "It is a joyous day to see your return."

He gestured at the doors with a wide inviting wave of his hand, and saw the expression in his Uncle's eyes grow impish.

"It is joy to be back. And I hope an exception can be made… Out of the rule that no Man can enter the Inner Halls." He lifted his arm, and the small woman stepped closer to him. She pushed the hood off her head, and Fili saw astonishingly bright copper hair, intricately braided around her head. "My wife, Wren of Enedwaith. And my son, Thror, son of Thorin." The boy bestowed Fili with a decorous bow, his face schooled in a polite expression.

Fili bowed to the woman and nodded to the boy.

"It is an honour to meet you both."

There was a strange smile playing on the lips of the woman's red wide mouth, but Fili decided there were things of bigger importance to ponder at the moment.

Two courtiers rushed to the doors to the Inner Halls, and Thorin, with the woman and the boy following him, passed Fili. There was a slight limp to his step. He was clearly favouring the right leg, which, as Fili remembered, Azog had crushed in the midst of their fight.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. First Questions

Fili had always acutely admired his Uncle's unwavering confidence. He had often asked himself - then, when they travelled together, when he was nothing but a youngling, following his Uncle - whether Thorin Oakenshield was even aware of other's eyes on him, of people affected by his presence; and whether he cared or doubted, somewhere deep in his mind. Somehow, Fili always thought that the answer was 'nay.'

Thorin walked through the doors, followed by his wife of Men, leading his son by the hand, and a maid, a tall woman of Men. Fili noticed both women and the boy turning their heads constantly, looking around, their eyes widened. Thorin, meanwhile, headed confidently through the passage and towards the stairs leading down into the Inner Halls.

When it was time to restore Erebor, Fili insisted on following the old schematics, and of course Thorin remembered the Mountain.

"Are you putting us in the West Wing, I assume?" he asked, and Fili saw the boy pull at the red haired woman's sleeve. Fili's sharp attention - which made him skilled with his throwing knives, and cunning in negotiations - was now a curse. He couldn't stop noticing the small details, and the nuances, and how the woman leaned in and whispered something into the boy's ear, and how Thorin's eyes shot an affectionate look at the dark curly head.

"Aye..." Fili finally managed to focus enough to answer. "The Royal Halls of course. They are empty these days."

"Oh? Where is Kili and Dis?" Thorin asked in a light conversational tone, and Fili felt irked. His astonishment was wearing off, and he suddenly thought that Thorin Oakenshield hardly had the right to ask so nonchalantly about the kin he had abandoned in ignorant grief a decade ago.

"They reside in Blue Mountains these days." One of Thorin's eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "But they are visiting Iron Hills these moons, so if you wish to see them, I can send a raven..."

"Of course I wish to see them. I'll leave writing the letter to you," Thorin answered offhandedly, and stopped in front of the doors to the Halls. "Are you tired, my heart?" he suddenly asked, in a much softer tone, and Fili stared at him shocked.

"I would like the repose," the woman answered from behind Fili's back, and he whipped his head.

He still hadn't had a chance to have a good look at her. He quickly scrutinised her, and was left completely flabbergasted. Nothing about her made sense. She was clearly of Men, scrawny, and so short that she was of the same height as her husband. The face was angular, mouth wide, nose turned up and covered in freckles. She was neither beautiful, nor sensual. She was very young as well, as much as Fili could judge the age of a Long One. There was something about her eyes - slanted and narrow - that made him throw an attentive glance, though. They looked old, way beyond the twenty or so Springs that she had probably seen. They were sharp, attentive, and despite her answering to his Uncle, Fili found her studying him, the same odd smile playing on her lips.

"Take Thror inside then. I have a few words to exchange with my sisterson, first." Fili noticed how Thorin wasn't asking but presuming everyone would obey - and that the woman noticed as well.

The courtier accompanying them opened the doors, and the woman walked in, pulling at the boy's hand. And just before disappearing inside, she turned to Thorin and gave him a soft smile.

"Don't be long," she murmured, and Fili doubted his hearing. He clearly wasn't supposed to overhear them, but the playful tone and impertinent words were now a bewildering memory etched in his mind.

* * *

In Fili's study, Thorin sat in the chair facing the desk, and Fili tucked himself in his usual armchair behind it. His hands lay on the cold surface of the desk, bringing relief, and a grain of collectiveness.

He saw Thorin rub his right thigh and outstretch the leg in front of him somewhat awkwardly.

There were certainly many ways of starting this conversation, but knowing his Uncle, Fili chose the direct path.

"So, what happened, Uncle?" He immediately noticed that the question came out more authoritative and brusque that he'd intended. A lopsided smirk on Thorin's lips only confirmed it.

"I didn't die."

Fili swallowed the 'that much is clear' line and picked up the letter opener from the table to gain himself a moment to think. He clearly wasn't getting any explanation, although he was pleased to notice that he expected one. Clearly, the presence of his Uncle - alive and even more conceited than Fili ever remembered him - didn't erase Fili's memories of being the ruler of Longbeards for ten years.

"Where do you reside now?" Fili asked.

"In Enedwaith. In a large settlement lying in the center of the merchant routes."

"Merchant routes?" Fili drew his brows in confusion, and Thorin chuckled.

"Aye. Fur traders, mostly. My father-in-law possesses the largest number of merchant companies and boats West to Misty Mountains. Five years ago I bought into his business, and now I own more than two thirds of it."

"You command merchant companies?" Fili had nothing left but to repeat what he was told. Thorin clearly saw his befuddlement, and looked mildly amused by Fili's facial expression. "But you are an Heir of Durin!" The words fell off Fili's lips, and he immediately regretted the judgement in them.

"I do not think I need to remind you that trade is considered an honourable pursuit for a Khuzd." Contrary to Fili's expectations, not only Thorin hadn't lost his temper - he was now grinning to his sisterson impishly. If Fili were prone to dramatics, he would ask who this man was.

"And why are you here? What changed?" Fili had lost any hope to be in charfe of over this conversation and his own gob.

"Wren and I decided it was time Thror found out his heritage. He had seen very few Khazad in his life, and it was time to rectify it." Thorin's tone was lazy.

"And his mother? Where is she?" Fili wondered if he was touching on a sensitive question, and whether she was dead. His jaw slacked when a loud unrestricted guffaw burst out of his Uncle. It was quite possible that Fili had never heard him laugh like that before.

"Wren is Thror's mother. She likes to say that Mahal was merciful and the boy inherited nothing from her."

Fili listened to a few pleased chuckles rumble at the back of his Uncle's throat.

Fili was no boy anymore. And to think of it he had never had a habit of reacting carelessly. So he just sat pondering, trying to take his swirling thoughts under control.

Thorin shifted on the chair, clearly intending to rise.

"What shall I write to Mother?" Fili asked halting him.

"That I didn't die." Thorin repeated his previous words, as if it were a very witty jest. "Oh, and I would warn her regarding Wren and Thror. And regarding the respect I expect to be shown to both of them."

There was a glimpse of the old Thorin Oakenshield in the grave tone, and the suddenly cold eyes, and Fili nodded. Thorin rose, Fili followed, but before this conversation was over, Fili just had to ask.

"Why didn't you let us know you lived?" He cringed from how childish and small his voice sounded.

"Because it wouldn't have changed anything." Fili couldn't believe his ears.

"It would for us!"

"Fili..." Thorin's eyes grew distant, and his lips twisted wryly. "After the war… I only wished to pass into the Halls of the Forefathers." The words were simple, and because of it only more piercing and excruciating. The calm tone they were pronounced with made Fili gasp. "And then..." With the same distant expression, Thorin now smiled softly. "And then I only wished to live the life Mahal gifted me with. The new life, with Wren… And if my kin had known I lived, I wouldn't have been allowed to do either."

"We grieved!" Fili snapped, and chopped air with his hand. His heart thrashed in his throat. "Do you not understand what it was like for us?!" His voice was pained and hollow. "We held your funeral! Kili never recovered!" Fili could see that Uncle indeed felt he had been right, and had had the right - and fury raised in Fili.

Thorin met his eyes, and the familiar cold regal expression coloured his features.

"I had fulfilled my duty, Fili. I won the war. I returned the Kingdom of Erebor to the Khazad. I deserved to guide my life by my own choices."

Fili stood, trembling, and then his Uncle clapped the hand to his shoulder, and grinned to him, his face softening, bright eyes now squinted, crinkles running in the corners.

"I'm glad to see you grew into the man I hoped you would. It does take a backbone to shout at me." And with that Thorin walked out of the room, limping heavily.

 **To be continued...**

* * *

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 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

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 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	3. Dwalin

**Author's Note :**

 **OK, it IS NOT going to be a short story.**

 **In two days I've written six more chapters (Thorin's flashbacks), and now there are plot lines for all characters, Fili's being the central (thanks to the patronage of the reader citadela, who threatened me with horrible evils and tempted me with European style watercolours in order to protect the golden prince from kkolmakov's style aaaaaaannnnnggggggssssssst). All main characters of the story will get some 'pagetime,' but if there is a particular Dwarf you would want to see, let me know in a review.**

 **Love you all ardently,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Fili sat back behind his desk. He pinched his nose, shifted parchments around, and moved the letter opener thrice, setting it down parallel to yet another side of the desk, and then picking it up again. After a while, he just sighed and started on the letter to his Mother.

Khuzdul was the easy choice - the language was stiff, formal, and inexpressive.

 _My honourable Uncle and your brother, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror lives. He is visiting the Mountain with his wife from Men and his son, Thror, son Thorin._

What else was he to say? Ask her to come? She would, of course, rush to the Mountain as soon as possible on her own. Kili would as well. Fili doubted leaving behind his wife who had given birth just a few moons ago would stop him. Fili twirled the quill in his fingers, rolling words and phrases in his mind.

 _Be so kind as to join your brother in this visitation in celebration of his honourable family._

That was good. Just as full of hidden meaning as Thorin had requested - respect was expected to be paid to Thorin's wife and son. A thought that Wren, wife of Thorin was still to face a lot of hostility and bigotry, rushed through his mind. And then a stubborn one followed - it was Thorin's matter to attend.

 _May Mahal watch over your travels._

 _With love and endless respect,_

 _Fili, son of Nari, son of Vit, King Under the Mountain._

Sealed and sent, the letter hadn't left his thought, of course. His mind still whirred, and the conversation with his Uncle would come back to him again and again. There was a reason why Fili had always been considered the quiet one, especially when compared to his brother. He listened. And watched attentively. He watched the small expressions, the movements of a body, and Thorin's was only easier to read, because no matter how many years had passed and no matter what changes had transpired, the man was still family.

Thorin had changed. His eyes were softer, his bearing lighter, unburdened. The movements were more fluid, the rigid posture of all those years ago was gone. The Thorin of the past would never show weakness, would hide the wounded leg. Fili could see that Thorin could walk without the cane - and yet he carried it with him, without embarrassment. He was even, grounded, and settled. Gone were the bitterness, and the driven mind, focused only on one goal. The Thorin who went on the Quest for Erebor was gone, and the Dwarf with almost all his hair of the pearly silver and smiling eyes was not quite Thorin Oakenshield. Fili felt the change, but couldn't yet wrap his mind around it. Neither could he imagine how it came to be.

He realised that he had reread the same letter for the fourth time, and still had no understanding of what was in it, and he pushed it away. He steepled his fingers ad closed his eyes. It always helped him think.

* * *

And when he was almost ready to return to his work, a knock came to his door. He acutely regretted that he had given up the habit of carrying many knives with him at all times, since the sound of one of his throwing knife whacking into the thick of the wood door would be most pleasing right now.

"Come in," he called, allowing his irritation seep into his tone.

The door opened, and the familiar figure of Dwalin, son of Fundin stepped in. Fili rose, and they exchanged short bows. It had been only two days since they'd seen each other last. Dwalin had been settling in his new household, having moved into new halls, since his wife was expecting.

"Master Dwalin," Fili greeted the warrior with the old moniker - a common joke between them, and the Dwarf chuckled and sat in the chair. Fili slowly lowered himself into the armchair, stalling, and studying the warrior. He was hastily going through possible words to say, and then the realisation dawned.

"You know," he exclaimed in surprise. Dwalin hummed, calm and unmoving in his chair. "About Thorin… You know he is back."

"Aye. He sent for me and Balin just now. They are still talking."

Fili stared at the Dwarf in astonishment. Dwalin was almost distracted, now drumming his fingers to the armrest. Fili could imagine so many ways in which the meeting between the former King Under the Mountain and his most loyal lieutenant had gone. There could have been tears, there could have been a punch up, but he surely didn't expect Dwalin to sit with a somewhat bored expression in his chair.

There was only one possible explanation.

"You knew, didn't you?" Fili narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf. Apprehension and confusion were boiling in his blood, but with each passing second he had less and less doubt. "You knew he lived, all these years..."

Dwalin met his eyes and nodded, his face still unreadable.

"Aye. We ran into each other in Bree, years ago. He was travelling North with his wife. Just after their wedding, I reckoned." Dwalin crossed his arms on his chest.

Fili's anger had to wait. Curiosity won in his mind, and he exclaimed, "Mahal help me, and how did it go?"

"There were blows exchanged. Then there were tears. And then ale." Dwalin smirked. "A lot of ale. His little lady didn't seem very happy. He was pretty useless for three days and three nights, I'll tell you that." Dwalin boomed a laugh.

Fili, of course, wanted to ask whether it had ever come to Dwalin's mind to tell someone about his miraculous discovery. And then he shook his head. He knew the answer to this question. If Thorin didn't want to let others know, Dwalin didn't either. He always followed Thorin without a shadow of a doubt, without a word.

"I reckon, he had done what he had to, in Erebor then. He had the right to live how he wanted now," Dwalin suddenly spoke, and Fili's eyes flew to his face. Was the warrior truly explaining himself and looking for excuses for Thorin?

Dwalin was looking at him fondly - the way he would look at him when Fili was young - and to think of it it had only been a decade since then - and when Fili wasn't the King. In recent years, pride and respect were in Dwalin's eyes, but Fili missed this warm light.

"He has his home there now," Dwalin continued in an offhanded manner. "They brought furs and ale to Bree then. He told me of the business. And the redhead was in the family way already."

Fili felt affection tug at his heart. And just as many times before it, he pledged to never judge hastily and never to underestimate his kin. Perhaps, the decision hadn't been that easy for Dwalin.

Fili decided to take pity of the warrior, and turned the conversation to a neutral topic. They conversed about a trip to Ered Luin Dwalin and Balin had been planning, but it was clear Balin wasn't to come any time soon, and they decided to postpone further discussion.

Dwalin gave him a small bow and left, and once again Fili was left alone with his thoughts. Which wouldn't do, since he would just get one of his headaches and wouldn't come up with anything good anyway.

He rose and decisively walked out of the study.

* * *

He hadn't been searching for them, but perhaps he did want to have a look.

They were in one of the inner court yards. The red haired woman was sitting on a bench, some sewing in her hands, while the boy was rummaging through the training swords and shields piled by the wall.

"Be careful, Thror," she called to him, without lifting her eyes. One of the shields rocked and then plopped on the ground, and on the boy's foot. His face twisted in a pained grimace, but no sound came. And then he caught Fili's eyes. Fili nodded to him, confirming that they understood each other, and received a tentative smile in return.

"Did you squish your foot?" the woman asked, her eyes still on the fabric and the needle, and Fili smirked. His Mother could always guess as well, when they were boys. They could never hide the scrapes and bruises.

"I am quite alright, amad," the boy groaned, pushing the shield off him. Fili noted that just as any other Dwarven child, the boy didn't lie even in the smallest things.

She sighed then and lifted her slanted eyes. They widened when she noticed Fili, and she rose.

"My lord." There was a doubt in her tone, as if she didn't quite know how to address him.

Whichever way they looked at it, she would be so much younger than him, in Dwarven years, or by the age of Men. On the other hand, she was the wife of Thorin Oakenshield. While by some strange twist of fate, Fili was her King. He could understand her confusion regarding the protocol.

"Lady Wren," he answered, keeping the tone formal just like her. Then gave her a low bow. He didn't know how knowledgeable she was in Dwarven traditions and customs, but surely the most unaware would see how much respect he was showing her.

She was hardly unaware. The slanted eyes were astute, and he saw her press the lips of her disproportionately wide mouth.

"Would you like to join me, my lord?" she asked politely, and sat back on the bench. "The entertainment is hardly most exciting..." She pointed with her eyes at the boy who was now deftly smacking a training dummy with a wooden staff. "But something tells me you have questions. And I might be the one to answer them."

Fili accepted her invitation with a grateful nod. She put what he now saw was a grown Dwarf's shirt aside, and smiled, her eyes following her son.

"I imagine you want to know what had happened. I do not expect you to ask directly, though. You do not seem that..."

"Nosy?" Fili supplied, and she snorted and focused her odd eyes on him.

"Careless. You know, Thorin will answer none, and dinners will become quite awkward."

Fili chuckled surprised. There was a lot to the small woman sitting near him right now, her hands decorously folded on her lap. How old was she? Now that he had a better look, he could see that she was very young - except for the eyes, just as he had noticed the first time he saw her.

"Ten years ago our company travelled from Iron Hills South," she started in a calm tone. "I saw something float in the river, and I dragged him out of the icy water. We knew the war was raging, there were rumours of the Serpent, and of the Dwarven army moving West, so we didn't know what to do with him. We tended to him, but we had to continue moving. Once he awoke, he asked to stay with us. And then we came back to Enedwaith, married, and had Thror."

She was done, her polite and light words as if hung above them, and Fii started laughing loudly, as if some sort of a tight coil snapped in him.

"And that is all?" he rasped through bouts of his laughter, and she smiled widely to him.

"Quite so," she answered in the same nonchalant voice, and he as much as bent in half. Mahal help him, his side was starting to stitch, but he just could not stop. Quite so, indeed.


	4. Wren

_**Ten or so years ago...**_

Thorin stepped into the courtyard, heavily leaning on the cane. The pain was burning his side, its dull echo rolling through the right leg. He gritted his teeth, and threw a dark look at the clouded sky. The days with the rains and the storms were the worst.

The girl was sitting on a bench under the roof of the back porch, her hands clenched on her lap, fingers tensely intertwined. She hadn't come to visit him in the last five days, and he wondered what was taxing her. Their previous chess match was still on the board on the small table in his chamber.

"Lady Wren," he greeted her, keeping his tone cordial.

She lifted her slanted eyes at him, and he saw her usually red lips pressed in a stern line, white, her even teeth worrying them.

He slowly walked towards her, feeling unpleasantly cold water tickling behind the collar of his doublet. He stopped in front of her bench, and waited for her invitation. He saw she hesitated but then she invited him with a small gesture of her hand.

They sat quietly for a few seconds, he watched water drip from a gutter.

"Master Dwarf, may I ask you a question?" Her voice was quiet, and he looked at her askance.

He had had a good look at her in the moons of the journey from the North - though lots of it had been obscured by the delirium, and excruciating pain in his broken body - and through the past four weeks he'd spent in this house; and though her unattractiveness seemed rather loud at the beginning, he had grown quite used to her face by now.

"Feel free, my lady," he answered, and watched her frown. Her lips moved without a sound, and then she drew a deep breath in.

"Do you think a person is to have a freedom of choice… of how they are to live? Even if their attitude doesn't agree with traditions… and their family values… Shouldn't a person be allowed to choose their own path?"

He chuckled, and continued to watch the rain.

"Will an answer to this question make me a wretched guest in your father's house? I wouldn't want to give his young child some ideas that would go against his opinion. What sort of gratitude for hospitality would that be?"

"Your advice in trade has paid this debt by now, Master Dwarf," the girl muttered darkly, and he pressed his lips, hiding a smile. He indeed had been helping his host with the fur trade, advising on the routes, and on the choice of guards, as well as on how to negotiate with different races.

"I think I have made up my mind by now," she suddenly spoke, and he saw it was her now who was pensively following with her eyes the water run between the cobblestones of the yard and into the drain. "But I would still want to hear your thoughts."

"I think that honour and duty are to be always considered above any other reasons," Thorin spoke the first answer that came to his mind, but then he remembered where he was, and what had transpired in the last moons. "And yet sometimes the right path isn't exactly the most obvious."

The girl nodded, and he heard a small soft sigh.

"That is exactly the answer I expected from you," she said, and his eyebrows jumped up from the scratchy unpleasant tone he didn't expect to ever hear from her. She'd always been respectful and friendly with him.

She then rose on her feet and walked away from him without as much as a word. He shook his head, shortly musing about feminine temper, and perhaps in her case still some childish moodiness; and then his thoughts quickly strayed to the letter with which he was to help the master of the house.

* * *

The same night he was woken up by a touch. It was an unfamiliar sensation, to feel someone's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He opened his eyes, his hand already sliding in an unconscious gesture, after a dagger under his pillow. It wasn't there, he hadn't been wielding any weapons since that day on the ice.

She was kneeling on his bed, in something white, and strangely voluminous. He was used to the simple dresses on her, and this lace opulence was confusing.

He was going to ask her what sort of bizarre feat that was, when she pressed her small hand over his mouth.

"I need to say it. You don't have to… Don't have to answer…" Her whispering was feverish, and he felt concern rising. He wondered whether she was ill, or muddled in some mysterious way.

"I love you," she said firmly, and then made a soft gasp like noise. "Maiar help me, that was easier to say than I expected. Must be all those time I've imagined saying it..." She continued muttering something, and he just lay in his bed, watching her, without a single distinct thought in his mind.

She quieted and pulled her hand back. He sat up slowly, not to startle her, and tried to open his mouth again.

"Don't," she hissed at him sharply. "I know everything you have to say. That I am of Men. That I am only eighteen. That I know nothing about you." Her tone was venomous, and he saw her shake her head. The red locks, scattered on her shoulders, unlike her mundane dull braids, glimmered in the pale eerie light of the moon. "Before that day when I dragged you out of the river… It was so very simple." She emitted a joyless chuckle. He noted how rigid and straight her posture was. Her words were, of course, most inappropriate, but he couldn't help but admire the composure and some sort of sober reserve in her.

"I know you don't feel the same way. I doubt you even notice… me… No one ever does."

She lifted her eyes - for the first time since she started talking - and he saw large tears in them. She looked every bit a scared, heartbroken child that she was, and he picked up her hand from the bed.

"Wren..." he started softly.

"If you say that you're flattered, and that I don't know what I am talking about, I will slap you!" she once again hissed through her gritted teeth, and jerked her hand back. "I am young, but it doesn't diminish what I feel and what I say. I have my will, and I know my heart. Whatever happens, I chose you, and it will not change. And if it were at least a bit less complicated, I would offer you myself." Her voice finally wavered, her composure slipping, and he could bet her cheeks coloured in the dimness of the room. He knew she blushed easily. "If you were… If it were possible, I'd offer you my body, without asking for anything. Without any obligation on you."

And that's when he realised what she was doing in his room. She was - in simple words - asking him whether Dwarves lay with the women from Men, and whether he would consider it. He looked her over in shock, and she shrunk under his stare.

She was right, she knew nothing about him. She didn't know that he was old. That he was broken. That Dwarves never lay with a woman out of wedlock. That he'd never looked at her any differently than at her younger brothers and sisters - she was indeed just a child to him. And a child of Men, which was in a way similar to a pup or a kitten. Not a person to consider any dalliances with. Just a youngling of another race.

He cared for her, in some small way, which was like an echo of what he used to feel towards his sistersons - then, in another life. He liked that she was smart, that she could almost win in their endless games of chess. She was healthy, swift, and merry. She laughed a lot. He felt pity towards her sometimes. He knew that she was thought feeble and unattractive, and he knew that it was her strangeness that separated her from the rest of her family. Because of it, she would stay in the house more, while others travelled and traded. That was why she had more time with him.

He did not see her as a woman. And he didn't know how to tell her that without offending and hurting her. She also didn't know that the last time a thought of having a wife, or even simply of touching a woman's body visited him when she had not been born yet.

He realised he was still silent, and she was still sitting on his bed, staring at him with her strange eyes. They were somewhat disconcerting, reminiscent of embers, and there was some greedy fire burning in them now. He had no answer for her.

"May I kiss you, please?" she blurted out, and he made a disbelieving noise. He would expect her to lose her nerve by now. "Just one time. I doubt you will enjoy it, but I am asking… As a favour to a friend… We are friends, are we not?" There was some childish stubbornness in this tone, and he knew he shouldn't have, but he allowed her with a nod. There was also the vengeful thought in him that if she wanted that so much, it would be her fault if she were disappointed.

She crawled closer to him on the bed, and settled on the heels of her feet. And then one cool hand lay on his shoulder. He knew it was cool, because her fingers brushed at the hollow near his clavicle in the collar of his tunic. And then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

His eyebrows jumped up. He had expected her to kiss his lips. And then she moved away and scrutinised his face. He knew that about her by now - this intent gaze she would sometimes have. He'd never deemed it of any importance, but it was mesmerising now, in the dim silence of his bedroom.

And then she dove in and pressed her lips to his.

He didn't move, and an instant later her lips twitch. And then she shifted even closer to him, and her arms went around his neck. She was just a child, he thought, and then his hands lay on her middle, making her gasp. She was narrow, the fabric of her nightdress cool and smooth, and then the tip of her tongue ran his bottom lip.

"I love you..." she whispered, her breath dancing on his mouth, and then she moved and pressed her temple to his. "Evermore…."

He felt her tremble now, and then she jerked, and slid off his bed, and the door closed softly behind her.

* * *

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Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

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 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	5. Close

_Present day..._

Wren sat on the large bed, in the chamber that had been assigned to her husband and herself. After the conversation she'd had with Thorin's sisterson, Thror and she returned here, and a sumptuous dinner was brought to them. Wren had eaten perhaps the tenth of it, Thror twice as much. The tray was still on the table in the parlour between the bedroom and Thror's room, since Wren wasn't certain what she was to do with it.

She felt out of sorts altogether. As much she'd been mentally preparing for the visit to Erebor, she was barely holding herself together now. The Mountain itself, the halls, the reception they had received, the imposing servants that entered her parlour, their faces reserved and haughty - all of it made Wren feel small, and unimportant, and so very out of place. A simple girl from Enedwaith, an imposter, and worst of all, an undeserving pair to the man whom everyone treated as a King. She'd never seen Thorin like that. She knew, of course; he'd told her, but she'd never been among his people before. The man she married, the imposing white-haired Dwarf, the head of the merchant company - all that was as if gone, his new persona blinding, confusing, terrifying. He behaved the same way, went about his day just the same; but Wren watched others; and now she felt as if she didn't know him at all.

The door opened, and he came in, jerking off his doublet on the way. He never seemed to have enough patience, and would start undressing even before the door closed behind him.

He then sat on the bed, pulled off his boots, and fell backwards, stretching his back with a satisfied groan. Wren could have predicted any of these actions, and yet she felt as if she was in the room with a stranger.

He closed his eyes, and then blindly rummaged his hand on the bed. Wren knew what he was looking for, and she gave him her fingers. He placed her hand on his head, and she started running her fingers through the pearly white strands.

"How do you find Erebor?" he asked in a nonchalant tone, and Wren laughed loudly out of the simple absurdity of his question. She knew of course he couldn't possibly understand what she felt - and neither did he want to - but she knew him so well! He wanted her to admire, to gasp, and to fret, because it was his Mountain, his people, his Kingdom. She was to admire and to hail, and he would hide a smug smile. The fact that she was close to tears and shaking mattered not.

He opened one eye and looked at her.

"Well?" he asked, and then twisted his massive body, grabbed her leg, his scorching hand locking around her ankle, and jerked her towards him. She scrambled, trying to stay upright, but it only caused her to fall on one side ungracefully. When she sat up, he settled his head on her lap, just like he liked, and hummed, clearly indicating she was supposed to return to his hair.

"It is magnificent. I couldn't imagine its… abundance," she started speaking, but then her hand paused in his locks. She looked down at it, and saw her fingers tremble. "Thorin..."

He hummed questioningly, his eyes closed again, face relaxed. He wasn't deceiving anybody. He was waiting for her to continue her praise.

"You know how sometimes I can be… difficult to understand?" she asked, and his eyebrows twitched.

"Quite so," he agreed, and she saw one corner of his lips curl up.

"And you once said that it's easier if I just say what I need, because you'd rather not play riddles," she continued, and this time the eyebrows were drawing closer together.

"What's this about, Wren?" he asked, and she carefully shifted, from under him, placing his head on the covers.

And then she moved and lay on top of him, pressing her cheek to his doublet.

"I'm feeling very emotional right now, and I need you to embrace me," she said, leaving all her complicated thoughts out. What was the point? He would only frown and grow irked, and she just needed to feel her husband was near her.

The familiar heavy arms lay on her, wrapping tightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I just need a moment..." she whispered, and felt him nod. His cheek pressed to the top of her head, and she greedily inhaled, catching the smell of his skin, the pipeweed smoke, the outdoors, and myriads of other fragrances she knew and loved.

"Has someone said something?.. Were you treated with respect?" he asked after a few moments, and she felt almost amused. Trust the man to always go straight to the matter: he was trying to find the problem, so that he could solve in his habitual decisive manner, and go back to his comfortable life.

"We were treated well. I spoke to your sisterson as well. King Fili..." she answered, and then shifted, pressing her ear over his heartbeat. It was even and deep, just like always. "He seemed kind and fair."

"He needs a wife," Thorin deadpanned, and Wren pursed her lips hiding a smile. "It's been ten years, and he still hasn't married. He needs an heir."

The tone was just the same as when he would speak of some boats having delivered their cargo late, or of the stables that hadn't been cleaned properly. Someone wasn't doing their work properly, and the Dwarf was displeased.

"Maybe you should find him one," Wren joked, but as it had happened quite often before, the joke was a joke only to her.

"True. He's clearly still clinging to his mother's skirts." Thorin puffed air in irritation, and then moved Wren off him. Apparently, the time of embraces was over.

He climbed off the bed and went to the bathchambers. Wren sat up and pulled her knees to her nose. She had so much to say, and no one to listen to her.

She didn't think that Fili, with his bright blue eyes, bitter lines lying in the corners of his lips, and the calm, even tone was 'clinging to his mother's skirts.' Didn't Lady Dis reside in some other mountains with her younger son and his family? It would seem much more plausible that King Fili had more important matters to worry about. And although Wren would never voice it out - since, who was she to compare herself to a King and a hundred year old Dwarf? - she felt some strange kinship towards him. She could see that his mind never rested either, just as hers would keep her awake and frustrated and lonely at all times. And perhaps, it wasn't that simple in his mind as it was in his Uncle's - to marry and to father a son.

Thorin returned to the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed. There were only breeches and a thin undertunic left on him, and he looked at her questioningly. Wren knew this look.

She could, of course, refuse him. She was feeling he could have done more to reassure her, but she also knew that now that his mind had turned towards carnal matters, he would be even less inclined to lead a maudlin talk.

And perhaps Wren needed a simple familiar pleasure of physical love too.

"I require a bath," she spoke haughtily, and his eyes lit up with feral glimmer.

"It is ready. I made it for you," he answered in some childishly proud tone, and threw a greedy look over her body. "Do you need help taking your clothes off?"

Wren gave him a sarcastic look from under a raised eyebrow, slid off the bed, and walked to the next room with dignity, her head held high. She could feel his burning eyes on her back and buttocks.

"You will take a bath as well. After I am done," she threw over her shoulder. "The journey was long, and the weather was hot and humid."

"Alright," he agreed behind her.

* * *

Wren savoured her bath, letting tension leave her body, and her thoughts slow down. She then wrapped herself into a sheet, placed on a stool near the tub, and returned to the bedroom. Her husband lay on the bed, playing with a long dagger, his movements impatient, and she gestured at the bathchamber door.

"Your turn." She saw his lips twist irked; he'd of course been hoping she wouldn't insist; but she climbed under the covers, ignoring his glares.

He sighed and left. He was back very quickly, water rolling down the skin of his fully bare body onto the floor. When he lunged under the covers and wrapped around her, she laughed and feigned attempts to push him away.

"You're completely wet! Did you even see the sheets there?"

"We are not talking about sheets now, or baths, or my nephews!" he barked at her, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Hurry up, woman! I washed for you!"

His hands were now greedily wandering her body, grasping the hips, the breasts; and then he cupped her between her legs, his middle finger insistently rubbing at her folds.

They were facing each other, and she laughed again, suddenly feeling merry and content.

"And why do you think you can tell me what to do, Thorin, son of Thrain?" She pushed her hand down and wrapped her fingers around his member, squeezing forcefully. He gulped air with open mouth, and the rhythm of his fingers stuttered. "Why do you think you can order me around?"

"I don't," he gasped out, and she saw his lashes flutter, his eyes closing. She moved her hand, in long confident strokes, and his lips parted softly. "I didn't… I was… pleading."

"It didn't sound like pleading," she drew out.

"I apologise?" he offered, his thoughts probably muddled already, and she let him go, and pushed at his shoulder, rolling him on his back.

She then straddled him, feeling his hot length under her center, twitching; and all of him felt eager, and hungry, and commanding, and pleading; and she pressed her hands into the pillow on the sides of his head and leaned, letting her hair fall and curtain them from the rest of the world.

"I need you to tell me that you love me," she said, and his eyes flew open. A shadow ran through the cerulean irises, and then the features of the proud face softened.

"I love you..." he said, in a low voice, as if struggling with the unusual task. She, after all, rarely asked; and she knew that he thought it was obvious and didn't need saying. How she wished it was that simple for her!

"Do you?" she asked, not making much sense, seeking some answer she didn't know the question for.

He suddenly smiled, and lifted his hand, and it tenderly lay on her jaw, gentle and loving.

"I do. You're my life." Wren leaned into his palm, and closed her eyes.

She wanted to tell him that she hated being in the Mountain, feeling all these eyes on her, being looked at, being noticed, and being measured and judged; she wanted to tell him she wanted to go back to their house, with its large windows and the thick wooden walls, and the wide stairs leading to the second floor, and their bedroom, and the kitchen, and the cellar; and that she wanted to be his wife and the mistress of the house; and the healer of the company; and the mother of their beautiful son - and that she didn't want to be the wife of Thorin Oakenshield.

And she knew she couldn't. Because he wouldn't understand. And he would feel offended, and frustrated, and - known only to her - terrified to lose her, to upset her, to hurt her. Because he loved her and she was his life.

She shifted, and wrapped her hand around his member, and led him inside her, watching intently how love, and passion, and reverence bloomed on his face, in the bright eyes, and the soft lips. And she knew everything he couldn't say, but what he felt acutely and truly. And his hands lay on her waist, and he exhaled softly, and stroked her skin, keeping their eyes locked.

"My Wren… My wife..."

She bent down and tenderly kissed him.

"I love you," she whispered, and he seemed to be saying the same, and then he cupped the back of her head and led her to his lips into a deep kiss.

"Evermore… My Wren..." She guessed his words by the movements of his lips.

And she felt that perhaps it didn't matter where they were, as long as they were that close.


	6. Your Hand in Mine

**Author's note :**

 **Please, check out the links under the chapter for my other writing and drawings. I'm participating in Inktober on Instagram, and I'm mostly drawing illustrations for my stories.**

 **Also, please, consider supporting me on P.a.t.r.e.o.n. The name is Katya Kolmakov. And just for $1 per month, you will receive exclusive monthly rewards, such as my art and chapters for my mystery webserial a la Agatha Christie, with Inspector Thorington and Lady Wren Leary as protagonists ;) And as a main reward for this month, I'll be soon posting a 5K+ story of Persephone and Hades. I'm currently obsessed with this myth *sigh* Cue a lot of ink drawings of bearded and long-nosed Hades ;) It's all that research I'm doing for the coming soon e-book based on my "Stop, Hammer Time!" (still available on this site, if you want to see Wren and Thorin as Aphrodite and Hephaestus).**

 **Thank you, and loads of love!**

 **Yours truly,**

 **K. K.**

* * *

The feast had escalated into dancing and shouting and singing already, and Fili watched the Dwarves around him, their faces red, all manners lost, and merriment spilling on each and every. Well, not exactly. Fili himself - and such was his normal proceeding - only pretended to drink unrestrictedly, and holler songs. And to his right hand, to the left his Uncle, Lady Wren, the wife of Thorin, son of Thrain seemed no less aware of what was happening around her. Fili threw her a discreet look, over the rim of his goblet, and saw once again her quickly pour the mead from her goblet into Thorin's. They exchanged looks, he nodded, she smiled to him softly, and then he turned away, continuing his conversation with endlessly inebriated Balin. Fili emptied his drink into his throat, trying to muddle his mind, to join his kin, to stop noticing and stop feeling foreign in the mad flurry of the revels - and he knew he wouldn't.

Couples danced in the center of the feast hall, stomping and clapping, and Fili threw a look over the benches by the wall to see which maidens were still waiting for a partner. Two sisters from Ered Luin - Agda and Abria - preened up under his gaze. Agda was an exceptional dancer, that much Fili knew already. He was not bad himself, and they had a jolly time last time. But dancing with her would mean dancing with her sister afterwards, and Abria had two left feet, and quite heavy ones for that matter. Ori's younger sister, Brilla was talking to her cousin, Nis, daughter of Arni, and it would be awkward to cut in.

At that moment Bofur, so drunk that he was cross-eyed, stepped to the big table, and tearing his good old hat off his head, he gave a low bow to Lady Wren.

"My lady, do you care for a dance?"

This time Fili wasn't the only one who noticed, and a few of the elders grew silent. Thorin slowly turned his head, and looked at Bofur from under a raised eyebrow. It wasn't that a wife was supposed to ask for her husband's permission to dance; but up until now Lady Wren had been treated with nothing but cold and distant respect. There was no better way to describe it. She was the only person here who wasn't of Khazad; and although people were polite and courteous, no one talked to her unless necessary, and it seemed no one looked but Fili.

She gracefully rose, lifting her chin, and walked from around the table. Her small hand lay in Bofur, and he pulled her into the circle of the dancers. Several couples moved to the side of the room, and Fili felt a pang of irritation. They couldn've of course blamed it on Bofur's usual exuberance when dancing, but Fili knew they stepped away to watch. And something told him she knew as well.

The music started, and it was a fast and merry tune. Fili forgot he was going to join. Watching her dance was a surprising pleasure, her movements swift and lively, small feet sliding and hopping on the floor. She reminded Fili of those small animals that lived high in tree branches, squirrels, and some other nimble ones. At the same time her head was held high, and a small benevolent smile played on her lips.

"In a few minutes go save my wife from Bofur's elbows and boots, would you?" Thorin quietly whispered in Fili's ear, and Fili looked at him in astonishment. That was quite a considerate and attentive behaviour for Thorin Oakenshield. Fili nodded to his Uncle, and went back to watching the dancers.

When the figure changed, he started rising, but then he saw Dwalin cut in. She laughed and said something to the tattooed warrior. She seemed less reserved now, and Fili remembered that the two had met before.

When Fili finally got a chance to take her hand, she was rather out of breath. She had danced with one more Dwarf after Dwalin, and the musicians seemed to be determined to choose a faster melody each time. This time they took mercy upon the dancers, though, and a slow stately couple dance started.

She followed the steps precisely, never missing a beat, with some sort of elegant ease.

"You have an exceptional gift for Dwarven dances, my lady," Fili spoke when they met up in the middle of the hall, and she smiled.

"Your Uncle taught me, and they are thankfully not that different from the ones I've learnt as a child."

"Uncle taught you to dance?" He chuckled and shook his head, while she bit into her bottom lip suppressing a smile.

"I insisted. I could not possibly learn to be a smith, or a warrior. I had to have some merits as a Dwarven wife." Fili smiled widely to her. Her wit amused him, and he enjoyed the feeling of her strong hand in his.

They danced the first dance, and then the second, and then the third started, and he still didn't want to let her go. They spoke when it was appropriate, and she admired the Mountain, and the feast he'd thrown by his Uncle's request, but soon it became clear that making funny yet inoffensive observations about everyone around gave them much more pleasure than the decorous conversation at the beginning.

And then, in a conspiratorial whisper to her ear, he mentioned the funny moustache of an elderly Dwarf dancing near them, and she bit back seemingly without thinking, "You should talk. Do your beads pull at yours when bobbing in a dance?"

And then he saw her eyes widen, and her face grew mortified. Fili leaned to her - they were of the same height - and whispered, "I'm cheating. They are hollow inside."

She burst into open merry laughter, and he joined her, feeling very pleased that he'd made her feel at ease, and from the feeling of her fingers relaxing in his hand, and from the view of her squinted eyes.

When they made a round and met again, she threw him a cheeky look and moved closer. He did as well, and heard her whisper, "You need to change partners. You're negating the purpose of this feast."

"The purpose of the feast?" Fili gave her a questioning look.

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't guess. It is clearly a clumsy attempt of your uncle to matchmake you with the nearest noble Dwarven maiden. He apparently thinks you just didn't get around to it until now, and he will stomp in and will marry you out in a course of a moon."

Fili felt blood rush from his face. He had been so preoccupied with the arrangements that he hadn't even questioned Thorin's sudden desire to have a feast even before Mother and Kili came to Erebor.

"Bless me, you didn't see it?" she asked, and now her cheeks flushed, as if dusted with tender rose.

"I didn't." Fili gave out a feigned chuckle. "He isn't wrong, you know? I indeed just haven't 'gotten around to it.'" As much as he tried, Fili couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, and it sounded harsh and hollow, and then he saw her upset face, and he exhaled sharply. "Shall I bring you back to the table?"

She was silent for a few moments - and then he realised she didn't want to go. She clearly was mortified that she'd offended him, and had spoken out of turn, and had given out his Uncle's scheming… And as much as he wanted to leave now, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him, and of the plan Thorin had for him, he remembered that they had danced three dances together already, and there were other women around.

Diplomacy in his mind won over the desire to step out to the balcony with her - he could just imagine how comfortable and easy a conversation with her would be; but he was also tired, and still affected by the events of the last few days, so he indulged and allowed himself a middle ground solution.

"Allow me to introduce you to some Dwarven ladies here?" he offered, and saw her gather her bearings. This way everyone would be pacified; he wouldn't be neglecting his guests; and he would get to spend a few more minutes with her. He pushes back the thought that he indeed wanted to. And that this way he would pretend to be playing into his Uncle's hand, which annoyed him to no end.

"That would be most kind of you," Lady Wren muttered, and Fili quickly went through the list of the ladies in his mind. A sudden desire to shield and to protect her from the well-veiled animosity rose in him. She would know, and Fili felt she didn't deserve it.

Not too far from them he saw Torunn, daughter of Andvari, absorbed in a conversation with two more ladies. Fili hadn't met them, but knowing Torunn they wouldn't be allowed a word in a conversation anyway, so it was safe to introduce Lady Wren to them. Torunn Fili trusted. He always felt comfortable and joyous when given a chance to talk to her. She had a refreshing directness and quick witted manner of speaking.

"Lady Torunn, allow me to introduce to you Lady Wren, my aunt-by-marriage, the wife of Thorin, son of Thrain," Fili addressed the raven haired Dwarven maiden, and she immediately abandoned her conversation companions and gave the redhead an open friendly look.

Torunn was a renowned beauty, although many agreed that acquiring her hand in marriage might be a task most laborious. She had a heart-shaped face, large dark brown eyes, set wide, and framed with black of thick lashes, and an alluring mouth, the corners of her lips perpetually curled up in a semblance of a sarcastic smile.

"Lady Wren, it's an honour to meet you." Torunn curtseyed, and Lady Wren returned the gesture. "How are you enjoying Erebor? We're working very hard on its restoration, but the King seems to be stalling my efforts."

"Lady Torunn is the architect in charge of the works in the Lower Halls," Fili explained with a smile.

"Forges, I am in charge of forges," Torunn interrupted him, and he chuckled. "And my workers are as much as idle considering how little funds you're allocating for us, my lord."

Fili chuckled again and turned to the other two ladies only to discover that they had fled. He suspected that previously they had been harassed by Lady Torunn's love for convoluted acidic statements and twisted conversations that always left her opponents feeling as if they had shown themselves complete morons.

Lady Wren was already asking very astute questions, while Torunn's eyes lit up with her usual hunger for a good conversation, and satisfied Fili left them to their devices.

* * *

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 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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 ** _Blind Carnival_**

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

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a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

 _Summary:_ A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists.

Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

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 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	7. Fili

_Ten years ago, in the healer tents after the battle of Five Armies…_

Fili was sitting on the cot, his eyes closed, while the healer was finishing the rebandaging. The white ribbons of cloth lay across Fili's middle, preventing him from taking a deep breath in, and the pressure was frustrating. They, of course, held his internal organs in place, and stopped the wounds from opening; but he was feeling as if suffocating at all times.

"We hope to restore your command of the left hand, my lord," the chief healer was droning at the background, and Fili just wanted to be left alone. "The right one will heal even faster. The left leg, though..."

"Thank you, Master Dar, that will be all." Fili didn't know himself where the authoritative tone came from, but the Dwarf bowed and disappeared through the flaps of the tent.

"I'm almost done as well," the healer mumbled behind him, and Fili nodded tiredly.

It had been eight days since the last Orc fell on the battlefield. The Elves had already set back to their woods; Beorn was drinking in the tents in the center of the camp; Bilbo Baggins was seen wandering the edge of the battlefield. Everyone was tired, still shocked; Fili's Mother was expected in the next few days. Kili was healing well; his redhaired Elf was nowhere to see. Thorin was dead.

And Fili was now the King Under the Mountain.

There were hundreds of things to do, and he had neither desire, nor strength to start on them. He felt just as he had felt when he was a tot, and he had gotten himself and Kili lost at the market. He had known then he was to search for the path home; he needed to gather his bearings; but he just continued looking around, hoping to see a familiar face.

There was no one to ask for directions now.

The healer finished, washed her hands, and headed to the exit. She then turned around and gave him a low bow. The contrast struck him; and a revelation came. She didn't see a man in him - not anymore. He was Fili, son of Nari, son of Vit, King Under the Mountain.

"My lord," the woman muttered, and left. No flirtatious spark in her eyes, no quickly glance at his lips, no fluttering lashes - only obedience, and reverence, and respect.

When they were younglings, he and Kili used to spend hours and hours, lying in the beds, talking instead of sleeping, until their Mother would come to bark at them in Khuzdul. They talked about how one day they would go on a quest with their Uncle, and how they would return heroes, and seasoned warriors, and then Kili would add with a sigh, 'And all maidens would admire us.'

Except it was now all so very different.

The flap on the tent moved, and one of the guards stepped in.

"My lord, there are a few Dwarves that wish to see you. Lord Balin is there, and a few people from Ered Luin. There's a lady. She says her name is Ingva, daughter of Ovi..."

"Let her in," Fili interrupted, his heart leaping, and the guard quickly retreated. But not before Fili caught a small smile on his lips. It felt pleasant - to be once again treated as a young Dwarf flustered in the anticipation of seeing a beautiful girl, and not as a monarch.

* * *

She hadn't changed. The locks were of the same light gold, large blue eyes, presently widened and tense, the soft line of pink lips he remembered so well.

"Ingva..." he breathed out, and she walked up to him, pushing the hood off her head.

"Fili… My lord..." She hesitated, and then sat on a bench near the cot. He could see that she was trying not to look at the bandages peeking on his neck from under the tunic, and the cast around the left arm; and judging by the held breath, the smells bothered her as well.

She then exhaled sharply and met his eyes directly.

"My lord..." she started in a decorous fake tone, and some unpleasant coldness spilled behind his ribs. "How is your health? Healers told us you were recovering, but..."

"Ingva..." he interrupted softly. "Why are you here?"

It was eleven years ago that he had given her his betrothal beads. They were just children of course, and even they themselves had known how little weight this promise held. And yet he expected her to be more affectionate, and her posture less rigid.

"After the news of the battle, many came from the Iron Hills..." she muttered defensively, and Fili sighed. He truly felt too overtaxed to bother with empty verbosity. She looked him over, and he saw the guilty expression on her face.

"Have you come to tell me that you do not wish to be my Queen?" he asked in a bleak tone.

"I have not seen you in seven years, Fili!" she exclaimed losing some of her composure, and he nodded. So, he was right. "I do not deserve the honour..." she started, and he lifted his hand letting her know she didn't have to weave all these banalities. the gesture was overbearing and disrespectful, but he had no strength for anything better. And he couldn't know if his voice would quaver. he breathed; she sat her eyes dropped to her decorously folded hands.

"We were children, grew up together. And now everything changed. I understand," he said in a bleak voice.

It hurt, and surprisingly tortuously. His thoughts had strayed to her so very often, through all these years; and even if he had been remembering nothing but a glorified image of the girl he once knew, it still had brought solace.

She got up and hastily placed the small box with traditional runes on the bed near him. It was the closest she had been to him in seven years, and it only lasted an instant. The flap of the tent moved, and she was gone.

* * *

Mother arrived six days later. By then, Kili had visited Fili once. He seemed as if frozen in some sort of horrified astonishment. He reminded Fili of a child dragged out of a burning house - inattentive in a conversation, lost in his thoughts; frightened, as if expecting another calamity any moment. His movements were jerky. He clearly couldn't sleep. Fili couldn't either, but he wouldn't say he was surprised. Neither of them had seen so much death before. A battle turned out to be a messy, bloody, disgusting matter, bodies falling, limbs twisted, teeth bared… Nausea would rise once again at the memories that he couldn't control - they would come in waken state in some wort of flashes in his mind; and even the stench of healer tents couldn't chase away the smell of blood and death that would fill Fili's nose.

And Thorin was dead.

* * *

Lady Dis came in, walked up to him in a confident quick step, and hugged him tightly. Fili exhaled, for the first time feeling as if every muscle in his body wasn't coiled in hardly controlled anguish.

"My boy..." she murmured, and stroked the hair at the back of his head. Fili closed his eyes, feeling them prickle, but then she released him and sat down on the bench. Her face was already guarded and calm.

"You did well by our forefathers," she stated, and Fili nodded, still unsure of his voice. "You took our Kingdom back. Your kin live after the battle. You looked after your brother. And now it is time to heal and start the labours."

Fili kept silent, taking slow measured breaths in. The wounds ached dully.

"The crown is yours, and you should start wearing it. No one doubts your right, but such is the tradition. I have also brought you the rings and the beads of your father's clan, and the royal jewels."

She was watching him attentively, and all he could do was nod.

"We shall hold funerals for Thorin." Even at the mentioning of her brother, her voice didn't waver. "And we need feasts, to honour the fallen, and to praise the living. You need to be seen healthy, able, and as the hero of the Battle of the Five Armies that you are."

She poured his tonic in a goblet and handed it to him.

"You need to heal fast. Durin's blood needs to run proudly again." He took a sip. "And, Fili, once your brother is well enough to travel, we both will go back to Ered Luin."

Fili's eyes flew up to her face, and he felt blood rush away from his face. A childish feelings of being rejected and abandoned flashed through his mind.

"Erebor is your home, honourable mother. And Kili has always dreamt of living here." He felt surprised at how matter-of-fact his voice was.

"Kili needs to heal. I spoke to him just now. He is broken, and everything here will remind him of Thorin. And the more distance lies between him and the cursed woods - the better."

She rose, and Fili felt an urge to shout at her like a youngling would: She had always put Kili's needs before his, and he had always agreed with such order, but wouldn't he get her attention now? Wouldn't he be the first to visit these days?! He fisted his hand under the covers, and gave her yet another mannered nod.

"Whatever you think is right, amad."

"You don't need us here, Fili," Lady Dis pronounced, not a shadow of doubt in her voice. "You will have matters to attend, a Kingdom to rule. We will only be in the way. You were born for it, brought up to be the King. That is what Thorin would want."

She was almost at the entrance, when she turned to him. He saw that she was now to breach a topic she felt disturbed by, and he braced himself.

"Ingva will be returning to Ered Luin with us. She is a good girl, from an old family. I am certain neither of you two harbours any of that childish infatuation. And your betrothal should be put behind us all, and not to be considered an obstacle for her to enter another." Fili hadn't failed to notice how Ingva's future betrothal to 'another' had suddenly become the business of their whole family. He didn't want to think what it entailed.

And with a promise to return before dusk, she rose and walked out of the tent. And Fili was left all alone.


	8. Morning After and Again

_Ten or so years ago..._

The next day after her unexpected night visit Thorin was looking through the maps her father gave him when she entered his chamber balancing the tray with his midday meal in her hands. He hadn't even noticed right away, expecting the usual maid.

She placed it in front of him and started busily cutting the bread and the cheese. He kept his eyes on the map.

And then she stopped by his elbow, and it was impossible to ignore her lingering after a few moments. He looked, feeling immediately peevish.

"Good day," she said, her large mouth was stretched in a wide grin. "How are you faring today? If you have time I would like to finish our game." Thorin kept his face schooled in a blank expression.

"I am preoccupied with maps today." She hummed, but didn't leave and instead walked to the wall and climbed on a sitting bench, tucking her feet under herself. Just like for him, everything was too tall for her in this house.

"I think you should have a break after your meal. You can't work all day. I'll wait." Her tone was light and even, and she was smiling to him blissfully.

His irritation grew. She was putting him in the most awkward position. He could not possibly throw her out of his room, but her presence was also out of the question!

He remembered the conversation he'd had with her father moons ago, when they had just arrived to the house. 'If she bothers you, just shoo her away,' the Man said laughing. 'She's a curious little thing, but she's smart and capable. Just needs to grow up a bit.' Thorin never 'shooed' her. She would come, sometimes they played, sometimes they talked. And last night she said she loved him.

He pushed the map aside and started on his food, hurrying, with an uncharacteristically cowardly thought to finish with it as soon as possible, complete the game, and rid himself of her presence.

"I decided I will make you love me," she announced in a nonchalant voice, and he choked on his food. The bread crust painfully scratched his throat. His eyes boggled, and she just nodded to her own thoughts. Her eyes were on the open window, one of the rare sunny days behind it.

"Wren, what are you..?" He couldn't even fathom what to say, and she turned and gave him a warm look.

"You kissed me back last night."

"I did not!" he exclaimed bewildered.

"No? Hm… Perhaps, I just imagined it. I have been only kissed a few times before. Mostly by the baker's son, and he hardly knew what he was doing. But you didn't refuse me, so I think you could one day love me back. I just have to try harder."

He opened his mouth and then closed it. It was so childish! What was an adult to answer to this nonsense? Also, the serene and earnest expression on her face was so very unfitting the moment.

"Please, eat. You need strength." She pointed at his plate with her eyes, and then an impish grin spread on her face. "I presume you are intent on fighting me every step of the way, and I am a persistent one."

Thorin didn't know what to do with this absurd conundrum he found himself in, and just went back to his meal.

* * *

They played. She would now come almost every day. And soon he realised that with time she sat closer and closer, and then she just walked into the room and slid on his lap. He stared at her, and she laughed loudly.

Her arm lay around his shoulder, and strange shiver ran down his back, from the tender skin of the inside of her wrist brushing at his nape.

"Isn't this nice?" she asked. He swore internally. It was.

And then he gently picked her up and moved her onto a chair near him. She laughed again.

"Well, if you choose to be a grump about it..." She picked up a figure and made her first move.

The next day she repeated the maneuver, and he moved her again. And the next five times after it.

Then she sat on the chair, but pulled out a comb from a pocket on her apron.

"Could I brush your hair?" she asked.

"Absolutely not."

She couldn't possibly know the significance of brushing a Dwarf's hair, but he felt angry with himself at how affected he was by the thought.

She only shrugged and stuffed the comb back into the pocket.

The day after that she won her first game of chess against him. She was exuberant, clapping her hands, a rare rose tone colouring her pale angular cheekbones. He hid even from himself that he lost because he was distracted.

A few days before it, he realised that recently she was dressing up for her visits to him. The dresses were prettier, as much as he could judge women's clobber. They were more colourful, and lace of fancy undertunics would now frame her cleavage. Not that he was looking at her cleavage.

She lost the next game, and then he decided he needed to put an end to this hogwash.

"Wren, I wish you would stop this..." he started, and she suddenly rose and was on his lap in an instant. "Wren..."

"Yes?" she asked, with polite interest on her face. Her hands were demurely folded on her lap.

"You do not even know what you're asking for, and it..."

"Was your hair that white before you were injured?" she asked, studying the locks above his forehead. "Or is it from being in the icy water for so long?"

"Are you listening to me?" he barked, losing patience, and she finally met his eyes.

"Aye, I am. But I am afraid you aren't going to tell me anything new." He clenched his jaw, preparing to rebuke her, but she just went back to gazing at his hair.

"Wren..."

"I wish you stopped with this strict fatherly tone," she drew out, and picked up the braid near his face. He jerked his head back, pulling it out of her fingers. She looked at him again and sighed. "Let me guess. You will tell me that it's a childish infatuation. That you could be my father… Nay, my grandfather. Dwarves do live longer, am I right? That you feel that you're betraying my father's trust. Oh, and of course, that there is a whole life ahead of me, and I will meet a decent man, and marry him, and make babes." She had the nerve to start uncurling a finger with each point! "That you have never intended and never will take a wife. And of course, my favourite… That you don't want me."

"I do not want you," he pronounced slowly, looking her straight in the eyes.

She shrugged and wrapped her arm around his neck.

"Not yet." She then looked at the board, and her nose twitched. "It is the rook, isn't it? I made the wrong move there."

This time he as much as shoved her onto her chair, and then pressed his hands into the seat and moved it a foot away from himself with a loud screech of its legs on the floorboards.

The next day she sat in the chair, not moving it closer, and he suddenly realised that it was a very large distance. She had to stretch her arm and lean ahead in the seat, and he suddenly thought that she couldn't possibly be comfortable like that. Also, this way her skirt wasn't brushing at his leg when she was dangling her feet while considering her move. He cursed his own weakness and didn't say anything.

A week later he walked into the room in the morning and nudged the chair closer to the table, and then cowardly fled, without looking back. She didn't say anything, but, of course, she noticed. She always noticed everything.

She did. She seemed to know if he slept well, or whether the wounds and nightmares tortured him again, and sometimes she would rise mid game, and come back with a pot of coffee. Or wrap up the game earlier, letting him win. Or say she was tired and leave, promising to finish the game the next day.

* * *

One day she came in while he was still eating and climbed back on the bench, just like the first day after her night confession.

"Do you truly want me to stop?" she asked, and looked him directly in the eyes. He wished she didn't start these crucial conversations when he would have half chewed bread and cheese behind his cheek. He also wished he could firmly say that aye, he did want her to stop. And he did. But he also didn't.

"There are many good reasons for you to do so. And none good ones for you to continue." He hid behind the usual Dwarven convoluted wordiness, and she puffed air out. That was a new gesture. He'd never seen her irritated before.

"That is not what I asked. Do you want me to stop?"

He didn't. He suddenly knew for certain he would miss the touches - the fleeting contact of the fingers when she would gather figures after a game; the brush of her leg under the table; the weight of her tiny body on his lap before he'd move her. He would miss her laugh, and the looks she threw him. The strange eyes - like slivers of fire opal fissures in pale marl - burnt and shone; and in them he could always see what she told him she felt. She thought she loved him, and there was admiration, and intent attention, and desire.

"Aye, I want you to stop," he answered in a dark tone. "It is childish, and irresponsible, and below you." He needed to stop blabbering, and he knew he was hurting her with his words, but he went on, "And you do not leave me any choice or any way to escape your advances. And it is… disrespectful."

Her head dropped, and he thought he heard her suck a breath in. He gritted his teeth. She had no right to cry! She had put herself in this position by choice! And it would be unfair and unjust, to use her tears against him!

He watched the copper crown of curls, with small flowers weaved in them. It was Spring, and she had started decorating herself with live flowers recently - some small blue ones would peek in a braid; sometimes a small bunch would be pinned on her chest.

She sat in silence, and he decided if she didn't start talking, or moving, or leaving in a moment, he'd lose his temper.

"Give me till the end of the moon," she spoke in a low voice. "Allow me to continue this way, till the end of this moon. And then I will never… bother you again."

"What sort of a childish play is this?" he asked, and she jerked her face up. It was heated, flaming, her eyes shooting daggers.

"Stop calling me a child!" she hissed at him. He had never seen her like that! She narrowed her eyes at him, and he saw the delicate nostrils of her turn up nose flare. "Everyone is a child compared to you. And my age has nothing to do with my worth. I demand to be measured by my mind and my independent will." She then hopped off the bench and headed to the door.

She stopped in front of it, and asked without turning, "Do I have your permission to be free around you till the end of this moon?"

"Aye, you do."

He did it out of respect, the respect that he suddenly felt towards her, with her straight back, and tense shoulders, and unbendable will; and the respect she was showing him, every day, and now again, asking for his permission to love him. He was a Dwarf, and he knew respect was a rare treasure in this world.

The door closed behind her, and he leaned back in his chair, pinching his nose, feeling some sort of heaviness behind his eyes. Fighting her was becoming more and more exhausting every day - and perhaps he was less and less adamant to do so.

He then asked himself whether she meant a calendar moon or the astral moon circle. Respectively, there would be either eighteen, or twenty one days left.


	9. Isolani

**Author's Note:**

 **1\. Just a reminder that I have plenty of other media (AO3, Facebook, DeviantArt; JukePop, and Etsy). Have a look around! The easiest way would be to go to my blog kolmakov dot ca and poke whatever link might interest you ;)**

 **2\. Also, in November I'm submitting my story "Stop, Hammer Time!" to Amazon Kindle Scout (after serious editing, of course): the story will be called _Hammer Up!_ and if enough people vote for it, it'll get published and everyone who voted will get a free copy! I'll keep you posted. There will be more details on my blog as well.**

 **Cheers!**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 _Ten or so years ago... (continuation)_

They continued the same way, but now he was counting the days. She would come, and slide on his lap, and he would move her off. She would ask permission to brush his hair, and once even to help him with shaving, and he would, of course, refuse. She brought him meals and coffee, she would sit on the bench chatting or listening to him. She was always in an even merry mood, always smiling, always looking at him affectionately.

And then one day she didn't come. And he felt panicked, and was distracted all day, wondering whether his moon was over. He counted and recounted in his head, but he had been certain there were another seven days left, no matter which moon she meant! When during the evening meal, shared by the whole household, her mother told him she was ill, he was embarrassed to admit how relieved he felt. He hadn't asked of course; just cunningly led the conversation to this question.

She was back two days later. She walked in, in exactly the same manner, with a friendly smile on her lips. He looked her over, but saw no traces of illness. She sat on her chair, and moved her pawn.

Three days after that he broke down and didn't take her off his lap. They played the whole game, and he lost quickly and foolishly, because to reach for her figures she would squirm on his lap, and he could feel her pert buttocks shift on his thigh. He had, of course, been thinking of her body before. She had offered it to him that night.

The day after he allowed her to stay again, and after twelve moves she suddenly turned and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his head. It wasn't demure, and tentative like that night. It was heated, and passionate, and she arched into him, and moaned; and he lost all sense, and pulled her in, his arms crashing her ribs, his lips moving greedily on hers. He felt her fingers in his hair, and her nails scraped his scalp, and he groaned, and only wanted more of her. They hadn't touched the figures after that. He lifted her and settled her facing him, her legs on two sides of his body, and she was burning in his arms now, pressed into him head to toe.

And that night he prayed to Mahal for forgiveness - for the touches and the taste that he had thieved, and knew he had no right for. For the soft moans and gasps he extorted out of her. For the half-lidded looks, for the pleasure playing on her face. For her hands clawing at his shoulders.

They kissed, and touched, and she moved and arched in his arms, giving him all of herself, and he could see glee in her eyes, and knew he had no right for it.

And then he stopped, breathing heavily, and he knew that he was hurting her, but he picked her up under her arms and tried to move her off his lap. His hands were shaking, and she made a pained noise.

"You need… to leave… It is… I need to go back to my work," he rasped out, and she slid off clumsily. She swayed, and he wanted to support her, but she winced away from him, and rushed out, without saying goodbye, and he thought he heard a sob from the passage, once she closed the door after her.

The next day he couldn't work, and was aimlessly moving parchments on his table, when she came in. He hadn't expected her to. He cowardly peeked at her askance, but she was just the same old her, smiling and arranging figures on the table. If she counted by the calendar, this was the day before last.

They played a game, but she seemed distracted, chatting about the merchants who had returned the day before, and then she stretched in her chair and yawned, and he tried not to stare at the long elegant neck, and the upper body tense like a bow string, and her hands clenching and unclenching. And especially, he was avoiding looking at her breasts, currently thrusted forwards, perky and delicate under the tight bodice. He had touched them the day before, grabbing and kneading them, while his open mouth was pressed to her neck, and she was grounding her hips into his straining length.

He had to concede - as he had been thinking again and again lying sleepless in his narrow bed - that now they both knew the answer to the question she hadn't asked that night. A Dwarf and a woman of Men could lie together, and it would indeed be pleasurable for both. To say the least.

"I am in no mood to play today," she suddenly announced, and rose. His manners made him pick up his cane and follow her example. She then stepped to him, cupped his jaw, and quickly kissed his lips. "I think I will take a walk instead today."

And with a soft smile she left.

And that was the last time she came. He wished he could say he stopped hoping earlier, but it took him a fortnight to accept the fact that that light kiss on his lips was the last one. It was the end of the moon she had asked for, and he had granted.

Sometimes he thought she had planned it, this last day, like the last blow. And if indeed she had, she had surely succeeded in the most cruel of ways. He would think back at it, again and again - he would recall the movement of her nimble body, the yawn, the smile, and the warm lips on his. He would think that he should have said something - and sometimes, very rarely he would even think that he should have asked to join her on that walk.

She was now even and friendly with him. They would meet during meals, or in the yard, or during the discussions when all the family would gather for council. She greeted him with smile, spoke cordially to him, and part with him without looking back. He was now just another of her kin for her, it seemed. But she wasn't just a child of Men to him anymore, and he fought and fought with himself, but it was too late. She had won. She had invaded his mind, poisoned his blood, lit up his body.

And now she left him. Alone, alive, burning. And now every day he would be arguing with himself. Because he now had something to tell her, to ask for, to offer - and at the same time, he didn't. Because nothing changed. Nothing but him. He did, and it was her doing. And now it was up to him, and he was still certain he had no right. If it had indeed been her plan to make him doubt, and torture himself, and mutter to himself, and toss in his bed at night - she had won.

* * *

And then the talks started in the house. And first, he didn't notice, just ignoring the conversations between the women, but soon he realised that there was some sort of excitement in their voices. Then there were discussions of sending a company to Gondor; and then he heard her mother asking whether 'he' would be returning with it. And then in the low buzzing of voices over the dinner table the word 'dowry' caught his ear. And finally, he noticed how rosy her cheeks would grow during these talks.

And that was the first time after the fight on the icy water near Ravenhill when a sword lay in Thorin's hand. Given, it was wooden, poorly balanced, and too short of him; but he marched into the training yard behind the big house, and asked for one, and for a dummy, and under shocked looks of the guards and the men of the house he threw his cane aside, and lowered the first blow on the straw stuffed sack.

The sword snapped in his hands, a rain of slivers bursting in all sides. He growled, limped awkwardly to the wall, grabbed another, and smashed it into the dummy as well. And then he swirled, minding the injured leg, and cut across the dummy from low left, up and to the right. The muscles, of course, hadn't lost their memory, and blood boiled, and he moved, noticing in passing how the body adjusted to the now less capable right leg, and another wooden blade flew somewhere to his left, leaving a handle in his hand.

He stood, panting, and snarling, and wanting more, to rid himself of the tightness in the chest, and the memories of her pleased blush when all that chatter about 'bedding and linen and other useful things for the trousseau' was washing around her.

He skipped dinner that night, and sat in his room, glaring at the fire in the fireplace, and calling himself names.

The next day her oldest brother hesitantly asked him to join the men in training, and he agreed. The best fighter in the household was half as good as the worst of Thorin's old warriors, and he threw himself into training them. The sparring quickly helped him to shed those extra stones he gained from sitting behind a desk, and the leg now moved more freely. On some days he would even forget his cane in the bedroom leaving for breakfast.

One day she knocked at the door, and he suppressed a surge of joy that rushed through his veins at the view of her smiling face.

"May I?" she asked, and he allowed her entrance. She sat in the chair in front of his desk, and not the one near the chess table. He hoped she didn't notice that he had not moved the figures since the last time she was here. On the other hand, of course, she did.

He stayed standing, and leaned back at the desk near her, allowing himself a bit of pleasure of being close to her, without a desk between their bodies.

"I realised something this morning," she started in her usual manner, as if continuing a conversation she'd been having with him in her mind. He was by then used to the leaps and twists her mind would make. "There is all this talk about my upcoming wedding with Aldacar but there is half a chance you haven't noticed. Another half would be you catching something, but not knowing for sure. I do not imply that it has any significance for you, but I want to explain."

He didn't want her explanation. He was also irked by the fact that she thought he didn't care. He kissed her, she told him she loved him; they were no strangers. They were no friends either, of course, no matter what she said, but no strangers. He had no right on her to declare, but he of course cared.

"It is your business, Wren." He started to heavily walk around the desk, but she caught his hand and halted him. Her face bore the same serene content expression, and he frowned.

"It is. And it has nothing to do with you. But I want to explain. Will you allow me, please?"

He shouldn't have. What point was in this conversation? But he nodded, and stood. She squeezed his fingers, and then slowly let go.

"He is marrying me for the dowry. I am after all very unattractive. But I also know a bit about healing and herbs, I serve as a healer's apprentice in the village. Aldacar is a Chief Healer in an infirmary in Minas Tirith, and I would be of help there." She looked down at her hands, now folded on her lap, and he saw small gentle curls on her nape. The neck was delicate, childish, and he felt his throat constrict. "I will most likely refuse him. I still very much love you, and I do not think it will ever change. Father will be furious..."

Somehow the first emotions that he felt was rage. Who spoke of love that lightly? In a nonchalant tone? And what sort of game was it she was playing? Was she trying to make him jealous?

She lifted her eyes and smiled to him melancholically.

"Please, do not be angry. I'm not trying to beguile you into anything. I just thought you would like some clarity. You seem like a man who enjoys clarity." She withstood his glare, with a calm trusting expression on her face, and he suddenly felt lost. What was he supposed to think and say to this?

He chose his usual approach, walked around the table, and opened the nearest parchment.

"If this is all you have to say, I need to go back to these contracts."

"Of course," she agreed easily, rose, and left the room.

He sat staring at the parchment for at least half an hour, without seeing a single word written on it.

What she didn't know was that he had cunningly arranged her father to organise a party to go to Rohan before the time her betrothed was to arrive to the village where they were to stay for at least two moons, and under the most innocent excuse of observing how their training was going he was to go with the company.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **1\. Facebook Writer's Page: katyakolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **2. AO3 (archiveofourown) as kkolmakov**

{for FanFiction that is more my independent writing but with elements of ThorinxWren ship in it}

 **3.** **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot komakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **4\. My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **5\. JukePop:** **Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_**

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _also_

 ** _Better Than One_**

a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

 _Summary:_ A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists.

Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

 **6. Other media:**

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **DeviantArt: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: katyakolmakov**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	10. Reading Material

**A/N: Just a reminder that I have a blog - kolmakov dot ca - with my links, news, updates, and so on. Have a peek!**

* * *

 _Present day..._

"Balin, I say we should finish our affairs for the day," Fili offered, hiding a smile. The old Dwarf was clearly distracted. Fili had had to point out the same spot of the map twice already, and once again Balin's eyes grew distant.

"Aye, laddie. Perhaps, it is a good thought." The white haired Khuzd sighed and rose. In the last ten years he had grown heavier and wider, but remained just as agile. Admirable achievement in his mature age. The sighs and the groans were more of an expression of exasperation than fragility of an old man.

Balin patted Fili's shoulder, and looked down at the maps and schematics of Moria scattered on the table.

"We will talk tomorrow, aye?" he offered, and Fili nodded.

It had been a fortnight since Thorin's arrival, and revels had been held every night. The days were mostly spent in Thorin having long conversations with yet another Khuzd who wished to see him, and talk, and reminisce, and more often than not it was Balin. While his brother seemed unaffected by Thorin's miraculous reappearance, Balin seemed emotional, sometimes teary, sometimes frantic.

Fili nodded to the Dwarf again, and Balin hurried to the exit.

Fili leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Most likely, Balin would rush to the courtyard where training was almost over. Thorin would be sitting by the wall, having finished his sparring with yet another warrior who craved the honour of clashing blades with the Thorin Oakenshield; Dwalin would be smacking yet another dummy at the background; Thorin's boy would be either sitting near his father listening to explanations, or trying out smaller blades. The boy was exceptionally good. Fili had gone almost every day in the first week, then every second day, and now didn't want to go at all.

The entrance door to the library screeched, and Fili cringed in annoyance. Surely, considering how much time Ori and Balin spent here, they could have oiled the hinges.

The visitor quietly walked between the shelves, and then Fili heard humming. It was awfully out of tune, and the voice was female. Fili recognised it just three instants later.

He was sitting at a large table, in the heart of the round hall of the library, surrounded by the shelves, which formed a maze around the central part. If she continued her - seemingly aimless - wandering, she'd come to him eventually.

He should have let her know he was there. Call for her, perhaps - and she would answer something polite and squeaky from the distance, and most likely flee. Instead, he sat and waited. She was circling him, unaware of his presence, humming her little song, and he heard rustling of volumes and scrolls. Then something dropped, she mumbled some mild decorous curses; more rustling came; and then she stopped humming and her steps grew more confident. She was walking towards him, and he sat and waited.

"Oh..."

Just as he expected, she froze in the opening between two shelves, her hands full of volumes, eyes widened.

Fili rose and gave her a small bow.

"Lady Wren," he greeted her with a smile.

"I apologise," she blurted out in return, and he smiled wider.

"For what?"

"For my singing. I assume that you, as most among your people, are an excellent musician, and my singing is horrid."

He couldn't help it. A chuckle fell of his lips, and he saw gentle blush spill on her cheekbones.

"It wasn't that bad," he reassured, and it was her turn to snort.

"There is no need to be polite, my lord. Flowers wither from my singing - what is to be said about a musically gifted Dwarf?"

He laughed and invited her to the table with a wave of his hand. She lowered her books on the very edge of it, and shifted between her feet.

"Please, join me," he insisted, and she tucked herself into the chair that Balin had occupied just a few minutes ago. "What are you reading?" Fili asked sitting down.

"I don't know yet," she answered, and he saw her eyes greedily study the spines and covers. "I just take whatever seems interesting. Sometimes they are in Khuzdul, and I don't read it well enough. Sometimes Sindarin, Quenya, or Common Speech. They are easier. Sometimes it's about swords, or history, or family trees. It is as if I play that game they have at travelling fairs, when you put your name in a jar, and you don't know whether you win, and what you win."

She brushed her hand to the cover of the book on top of the pile.

"I learnt here that I love reading. We had no books in the house when I was a child. I'm enjoying Erebor a wee bit more now," she stated, and he continued looking at her fascinated.

She was - put simply - odd. There was a mixture of a child and a wisdom of an elder in her; he was almost certain she could notice and understand more than others; and yet sometimes - at the moment, for example - she seemed to be in her own realm. She could say just the right things sometimes - he had seen her converse mannerly with Dwarves at the feasts; or say something candid just like a moment ago when she'd confessed to not quite enjoying her stay in Erebor.

"And what prize did you win today?" he asked, and she opened the first book. She then showed it to him, and he saw it was a book on beekeeping. She seemed content with it and started flipping through pages, brushing the tips of her fingers to especially bright illustrations.

Strangely, he didn't feel uncomfortable in her presence. She was already absorbed in her beekeeping book, and he felt he could just stay like that, reading his volume, without feeling that he needed to speak, or even acknowledge her presence. He wouldn't forget the latter either though.

A few minutes later she pushed her hand into the pocket of her coat, took out two apples, put one in the middle of the table in front of him, and started eating the second one, crunching quietly. Fili stared at the apple, and then picked it up.

It was crisp and fresh, and reminded him of the apples Kili and him had been stealing from gardens on the road. They were young then, before the Quest for Erebor, and they would accompany merchants, and could have afforded buying apples, but Kili always wanted to climb the Long Ones' fences, and snatch a few juicy fruit. If one bought apples at a market, they never tasted that good, he would say every time.

Fili sank his teeth in the apple; and tangy and sweet taste flooded his senses.

A few minutes later she closed the beekeeping book, set it aside, and opened the next one. She was leaning over it, he could see the copper curls on the top of her head, and the delicate shoulders.

"How are you enjoying your stay in Erebor?" he suddenly spoke, feeling surprised by the question himself.

She lifted her eyes off a map of Ered Luin.

"I'm glad Thror gets to meet his kin. And it has been long overdue for Thorin to return here." He noticed how little answer to his question was in her answer. Their eyes met, and she gave him a small melancholic smile.

"Has Thorin mentioned how long he intends this visit to last?" Fili asked, and saw her pensively chew her apple.

"He mentioned three moons. The journey back would be dangerous in Winter. And we have matters to attend home before the ice sets." Fili wondered whether she'd been repeating all these reasons to herself again and again, reassuring and comforting herself.

"Thorin said he was running merchant companies, fur trade he said." She nodded confirming Fili's words. "And you? What do you do? Are you a healer?" He'd noticed the stains on her fingers, he'd seen plenty of them in the moons he'd spent in healer's tents after the Battle of the Five Armies.

"I'm the Mistress of the Big House." He tilted his head, encouraging her to elaborate. "The Mistress watches after the merchants, and their families; we do have an infirmary, so I oversee it; and we also need to hire wine-girls to go with the merchants. And while men are away, and if the Master is gone, the Mistress manages the trade."

Fili remembered the merchant villages from the travels of his youth. She didn't strike him as anything like those women - the ones he'd met were older, louder, ruder, and greedier.

She sighed, her eyes unfocused now, on the wall behind him.

"My father hadn't been the Master for the last three years," she continued. "Thorin manages better than Father ever had. He's enjoying his dotage, his fishing and hunting. Mother doesn't approve. She says I will never make a good Mistress. She says I have no backbone."

She blinked and focused her eyes on him.

"Do you enjoy it - being the Mistress?" he asked impulsively. It was a strange conversation, but he suddenly craved to understand her.

"I do," she answered simply. "I do have a backbone. I just don't yell at the help, and do not wish any favours from young handsome merchants and guards. It would have been easier if Thorin supported me, but he thinks I can manage myself." She gave Fili one of her odd distant smiles. "And now, being here, I can see only more clearly how much I enjoy being the Mistress. I can't wait to go back."

"It'll be just three moons," Fili rushed to console her, and her cat like eyes met his.

"We both know it isn't true," she answered, and then with a sigh she looked down into her book again.

They did, didn't they? Fili thought. There were also many other things that they both knew, felt, and saw, while others didn't.

"Why did you marry Thorin?" he asked, knowing that unlike many others she wouldn't question where this inquiry came from, and whether he had the right to ask.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **1\. Facebook Writer's Page: katyakolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **2. AO3 (archiveofourown) as kkolmakov**

{for FanFiction that is more my independent writing but with elements of ThorinxWren ship in it}

 **3.** **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot komakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **4\. My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **5\. JukePop:** **Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_**

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _also_

 ** _Better Than One_**

a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

 _Summary:_ A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists.

Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

 **6. My art is available on:**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **DeviantArt: kkolmakov**

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Tumblr: katyakolmakov**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	11. An Answer

**A/N: Double update today, my duckies :) Don't miss the chapter after this one!**

* * *

"I married Thorin because he wouldn't let anyone else," she answered, and leaned back in her chair. Her cat like eyes focused on Fili. Her face was strangely calm. She was completely open, and yet he knew she'd never spoken to anyone about it - and would probably take a great offense if anyone asked. But not him. She was allowing him in, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Or what his duty told him to feel.

"He allowed me close. Have I mentioned I was the one who dragged him out of the ice water? I have, haven't I?" Her eyes grew distant. "He had bled… The skin was white, and the hair… It grew pure pearl white in the weeks after, while we were travelling back to Enedwaith. We thought, he'd die, but he kept on fighting. We couldn't leave him, there was a war raging around, we'd heard; and we asked him what he wanted when he opened his eyes, and he said, 'Just let me sleep...'"

Fili saw her throat bob. Mist clouded the hazel and green irises.

"But I just couldn't." She smiled to her memories, and there was no joy in the smile. "I kept shaking him, talking to him. I sat with him in the cart, and watched colour return to his cheeks. And then he would speak in his slumber and delirium, but I didn't know the language. He wanted to pass, but I just couldn't believe a man like him would just give in. And he woke up, and started living with us in Enedwaith, and helping my father, and having dinners with my family. But he just never… thawed. As if there were still the icy water of River Running in his veins."

"He seems quite… warm now," Fili spoke quietly, not certain why he was playing along with her convoluted metaphors.

"I gave him no choice. He allowed me to come, to play chess with him, to talk. And I would come, and play, and talk. I don't think I had ever spoken so much. And then..." She suddenly stopped, and blinked several times purposefully. "Pardon me, that was rather inappropriate. And unnecessarily full of bathos." She gave out an awkward small laugh.

"I have asked myself," Fili reminded her, and she gave him a warm, slightly embarrassed smile.

"You probably didn't expect a full report, though." She purposelessly flipped a few pages in her beekeeping book, clearly seeing none of the words written on them. "I thought I would have made a good wife for him."

"You have," Fili reassured, but then asked himself what he knew of marriage. Probably, just as little as he knew of his Uncle's needs in a wife.

"I made quite a decent Mistress of the Big House. His merchants rarely complain." Fili saw her lips purse. She had a wide, bright red mouth, he'd noticed once again. "I bore his son, and will bear more of his children. I've never considered whether I could be a wife for a King. It's sad to see I make a poor wife for a Dwarf."

She sharply closed the book and rose. Fili followed in a slightly clumsy gesture. His thoughts rushed in almost panic - he felt a dire need to reassure her - but she had already curtseyed and was walking away, her book under her arm.

* * *

Lady Dis with her younger son arrived three days later. Fili met them in his throne room, in full regal attire. He knew his Mother would be proud to see him with the heavy crown on his head; and being honest, he felt he wanted this distance between his kin and himself.

Both Dis and Kili bowed decorously, and then Fili rose and walked down the stairs leading to the throne. Dis' embrace was hurried. She seemed thinned, and her eyes burnt. Kili's arms wrapped around Fili almost desperately, just as they did when he was a child and scared; and then he stepped back and looked around quickly.

After a few short phrases that the decorum demanded, Dis looped her arm through Fili's and he led her to the adjoin chamber, where Thorin was sitting in a low armchair, his wife and his son on a settee near him. Kili walked into the room last and froze in the doors.

"Nadad..." Dis breathed out, and took a step forward. Thorin heavily rose, leaning on his cane. "What a joy!" Lady Dis made a few steps towards him, and then her eyes fell on the red haired woman and the boy.

No one in the room seemed to be moving. Except, from the corner of his eyes Fili saw how Wren's hands fisted on her lap, and how Thror threw her a confused look. At the door, Fili could hear Kili's ragged breath.

"Thorin..." Kili's voice trembled, and Thorin's brilliant eyes shifted on his nephew.

"It is a joy to see you both." His tone was as calm as ever. "This is Wren, my wife. And my son, Thror." He made a wide gesture towards his family, and they both rose.

Now everyone was standing around, and Fili suddenly found it farcical and irritating.

"Lady Wren, I have a matter to discuss with you." Fili could hear how cold his own voice was. Several pairs of eyes were now on him, and he felt some childish stubborn vengefulness. "And I'm sure Thorin, my Mother, and my Brother have a lot to talk about. And perhaps, the maid can take Thror, and better introductions will be made at dinner."

She met his eye and frowned slightly. The maid stepped ahead, and picked up the boy's hand. As well as Thror was brought up, relief spilled on his features when his Mother allowed him to leave, and Thorin smiled to him promising to see him at dinner.

Fili invited Wren to proceed to his study, gave small bow to Thorin and Dis, and left the room.

* * *

She was standing by the wall, her unseeing eyes on the spines of volumes on a shelf. He closed the door behind him, and she sharply turned on her heels.

"I am glad you asked to speak to me." Words spilled out of her bright lips. "I was meaning to find you… I mean, to ask for an audience with you. I feel endlessly ashamed of my behaviour in the library. I spoke..." Her voice broke, and she wriggled her fingers. "Out of terms. It was inappropriate, so inappropriate. I allowed my moods and my temper to take the better of me, and..." She made some rocking movement as if she was going to start pacing the room, but then she clenched her fists and exhaled purposefully. "Is that what you wanted to discuss with me? I have barged in with my apologies, while the protocol would have been to let a King speak, is it not?" She was tangling in her words, and he suddenly laughed. There was surely nothing funny in this conversation.

"I am saving you from my Mother and my brother, Wren," he said, and the cat eyes flew to his face, widened and astonished. "I just didn't want you to be in that room when one of them finally remembered how to speak. There is no matter to discuss. And no apology to be given. You have done nothing wrong. I felt honoured that you thought you could speak to me."

He suddenly felt tired and leaned his back onto the wall.

"I think we both know how exhausting it is to have no one to talk to," he added, and her frown deepened.

"I don't know what to say."

"Tell me I'm a conceited buffoon, and you didn't need saving," he joked, and she seemed to relax a bit.

"They didn't need me in that room," she spoke slowly.

"You should think less about what... they need." Fili wanted to say 'he,' and knew it. He wanted to say 'what he needs,' and stubbornly refused to feel remorseful about it.

She sighed and sat down in the nearest chair. He remained standing.

"If I stayed in that room, I would only confirm what's been obvious since the day we arrived here. I'm no wife for Thorin of Erebor." Fili opened his mouth to - hotly and stupidly - argue, but she gave him a strange serene smile, and he stopped. "I just want to go home. I was doing quite well as the wife of Master Thorin, a merchant in Enedwaith."

"There are just two moons left," Fili spoke the lie neither of them believed. She shook her head softly in melancholy.

"When you asked me in the library why I married Thorin, I spoke of him, not myself, have I?" Fili gave her a slow nod, and she continued, "But my answer stands. He allowed me. When I saw him for the first time, I already had no choice. My heart gave me none. And I gave Thorin none in turn. I married him because I loved him. And he married me because..." She stopped, and then she just shrugged. "Perhaps, he thought it was the right thing to do." She then gave Fili an inquisitive look. "Isn't it what drives the sons of Durin? Duty?"

"Almost always," Fili agreed - and disagreed at the same time. Sometimes, the heart would win the fight, but he couldn't tell her that, could he?


	12. Thorin Returns

**A/N: Update 2/2 for today. Don't miss the previous chapter!**

 **Cheers!**

 **Katya**

* * *

 _Ten or so years ago..._

Thorin's elaborate plan to stay away from her and her betrothed hadn't worked. It hadn't worked because despite all previous years proving the opposite, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror turned out to be a spineless weakling with no will and no self-control. Instead of training the guards and enjoying the Rohan ale, once the cargo was loaded, he rushed the company back, growling and barking commands. By then, the men were used to his temper, and followed the orders readily. He wished they hadn't.

They rode into the gates of the courtyard, and he should've brought the pony to the stables and gone straight to his chambers. And instead, first, he lingered to listen the hands to tell the returning company about the events in the house. And then, he walked to her father's study, as if to discuss the trip.

The house was quiet, and everyone seemed in dark moods. Women were tense, men shook their heads in exasperation. He had a cowardly worry that his name had been mentioned in the storm that had been raging in the household, but of course it hadn't. She would never implicate him.

According to the stable boys, the healer from Minas Tirith was placed in the best visitor rooms, and was a tall, strong looking Gondorian. And he had dinners with the family, and everything had been going well, and he even seemed to have taken well to the master's girl, but then one evening there was shouting, and screaming in the master's rooms, and it turned out she announced she wouldn't marry him, and she was adamant, and her father was heard roaring in his study for hours. It helped little, and he continued to have talks with her for another three weeks. There seemed to be no development, and the house froze in a nervous anticipation.

Thorin knocked at the door, and was invited in. Master Lear was sitting at his desk, and rose to greet him. They locked their hands, and Thorin sat down to start his account.

"I apologise, Master Dwarf, I am distracted today. Could we talk later?" The Man cringed, clearly uncomfortable in this anxious state, and Thorin nodded benevolently. Master puffed some air out in a familiar gesture - she did exactly the same when a chess game would appear especially challenging - and rubbed his face with his hands. "Maiar save you from having daughters, Master Dwarf. I'd take a weekly Orc raid over what having a daughter makes a man deal with… When you think you've solved one problem, found a good willing man for her, they start resisting like a stroppy horse!"

Thorin kept his face schooled in a clam expression and offered the Man to talk after dinner.

* * *

The family was gathering in the dining hall, everyone seemed late, and there was a palpable tension in the air. Even the children of Wren's oldest brother seemed quieter than usual. Thorin walked in, and stopped to converse with a few men. The help were rushing about, bringing and arranging the last dishes, and then the Gondorian who had been standing by the wall, absorbed in a conversation, headed towards Thorin.

He was indeed very tall, and lithe, fair-haired, and had intelligent cold grey eyes. He gave Thorin a bow, and received one in return.

"Master Dwarf, I have heard much about you," the Gondorian spoke in a mannered tone. "Master Lear speaks highly of you, and I have to confess to certain curiosity. It is rare to meet one of your people in these lands, and a noble and seasoned warrior no less."

Thorin hated the Man - immediately and profoundly. He never liked the Long Ones in general, the Gondorians especially, and the verbose lanky ones even more so. And with this one, Thorin didn't even need an excuse. He didn't need to search his words for hidden meaning to take offense. He just hated him, and graphically imagined snapping his neck. Or maybe running him through with a blade. Or beating him to pulp, breaking his long nose, and his jaw, and then maybe a femur. The thoughts were astonishing - he felt furious and... alive. And not old at all. Just very, very angry.

Because Wren was Thorin's. She was his, and the Man thought he would just stroll in and 'take to her well?!' And who did he think he was to consider, and choose, and pick?! She was smart, and lively, and willful, and spirited, and anyone would be lucky to have her. She would make an excellent wife and a companion, and the beanstalk didn't deserve even a glance from her.

Thorin grumbled some polite nonsense in return, and walked away, as if to talk to the mistress of the house.

"You're back!" Wren's voice rang through the hall, and he turned sharply and saw her walk briskly towards him. A wide happy smile beamed on her face, and for a moment he had a mad thought that she was going to embrace him. But she of course just stopped in front of him, and rocked on the heels of her feet. "How was your journey?"

"It went well," he answered, not paying any attention to the conversation. He greedily watched her face, her shining eyes, the merry freckles on her nose, and the red mouth stretched in a smile.

"I was worried," she continued. "Father said the route wasn't safe." He saw her lips move, but didn't hear the words.

They were called to finally sit to dinner, and everyone took their seats. The Gondorian was given the seat to the left hand from the mistress, between her and Wren. Thorin as usual sat on the master's right, between him and his oldest son. From the very start, when they brought him to the house, after the long journey from North, he had been treated with utmost respect. He had always accepted it as granted. But today he would exchange his seat for the Gondorian's chair on the left side of the table.

After the meal the women left, and men were to smoke and talk, and Thorin excused himself blaming it on the tiredness after the journey.

* * *

The next day, after the breakfast, he found her in the yard playing with her youngest siblings. The day was warm and sunny, and the children ran squealing in the puddles from the yesterday's rain.

He would lie if he said he wasn't purposefully seeking her out. He had missed her like a dog.

She ordered the children to stay away from the deepest puddle, which they immediately jumped into, and walked up to him.

"It is so good to see you!" she gleefully announced, before he could summon what to say to her. "While you were away, life has been a bit hectic here. You are like a reminder of the better times. Something constant, for once." Her tone was blissful, and he looked her over in confusion. She rocked on heels, just like she always did, and then threw him an impish grin. "Was it nice to get away from here? I love travelling. Just the road, and the sky, and peace, and..."

"No proposals of marriage?" he grumbled, and she laughed loudly.

"Aye, I could very much do without those. But I have to say, Father seems to be giving up a tad. He only now yells for two hours in an evening."

She stood near him, small and lithe, and he looked at her throat. The head was dropped back, and she squinted enjoying the sun. And then the slanted eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him, a smile slowly growing on her face. He missed her like mad, and never wanted to leave her again.

"Wren, come in the house! Now!" Her father's voice came from the door, and Thorin saw Master Lear and the Gondorian standing in the roofed part of courtyard. The master looked irritated, the Gondorian's face was cold.

"Here we go again. The daily plate of haranguing." She laughed softly, but this time there was no joy in her voice.

She nodded to him politely, turned around, and walked to the house. Somehow what he noticed was how carefully she was putting her small feet in leather slippers between the puddles of the yard. She wasn't stalling, but clearly was in no rush.

And then Gondorian made a step forward, meeting her on the steps, and stretched his hand to her. She hesitated, slowing her pace, and then she looked over her shoulder.

Their eyes met, and Thorin saw it all. How it was his turn, and his choice. He saw melancholy in her eyes. She wasn't asking, and wasn't hoping, but he saw that if he was waiting for the right moment, there it was.

He knew that she would go in the house with two men, and listen to the master's infamous roaring, and she would still refuse, and would just leave his study, going on with her life. She moved through it with her head held high, full of quiet dignity, making choices she felt were honourable. And Thorin remembered that long time ago he had thought he was a man just as noble and as honest as this little girl of Men. Just as Wren of Enedwaith. Just as the woman he loved.

He gave himself one exhale, and then he shook his head, almost laughing at his foolish old self, and followed them into the house.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	13. Thorin Decides

_Ten or so years ago... (continuation)_

The voices from the study were quiet - for now - and he knocked. Invited, he entered, leaning on his cane.

She sat on a chair in a corner, Master Lear had clearly been pacing in front of her, and the Gondorian was standing by the window, his arms crossed on his chest, aloof expression on his face, as if whatever was happening had nothing to do with him.

Thorin should've perhaps waited for the conversation to conclude, and for Master Lear to see him in privacy; but it was decided now, and to Thorin it was surely easier to make it known to everyone involved in one go.

"Master Dwarf," the master greeted him, almost with relief. He wasn't a man to enjoy diatribing his child, and was clearly grateful for an excuse.

"Master Lear. Honourable healer," Thorin nodded to both men, and then looked at her. "Wren."

She smiled to him blissfully, her face calm and distant, and then her eyes shifted on the window.

"I came to ask for your daughter's hand," Thorin pronounced, and silence hung in the room.

"Pardon?" Master Lear muttered and scratched his head. "Which one? Enna is too young, I think, and… Now? You want to talk it now? Well..." He was now going through the list of his offsprings in his head. Thorin understood. The Man had five daughters, and all needed a husband. And as untimely as Thorin's escapade seemed, the master wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

"Wren. I'm asking for Wren's hand." Thorin realised he sounded bored. He surely wasn't.

He peeked, but she continued looking at the branches of the tall tree behind the window.

"Master Dwarf, if this is your idea of a joke..." the Gondorian started, and Thorin glared at him, effectively making the Man close his mouth.

"It is not. I am offering my hand and my noble name to your daughter, Master Lear. If she have me, I would be honoured to be her wedded husband."

"Well..." Master Lear made a few snort like noises, and scratched his bushy, dark haired head again. "There is already a contract, and Master Aldacar here..." There was no conviction in the Man's voice. The negotiations regarding the Gondorian healer clearly weren't going that well. Thorin pressed his lips, hiding a proud smile that he was astonished to feel tugging at his lips. His little Wren was a fighter!

"I'm not marrying Master Aldacar," she quietly spoke from her chair, and Thorin saw her look at the Gondorian. "With all due respect."

"Are you marrying Master Dwarf then?" Lear asked, his face befuddled, and Wren shrugged.

"He hasn't proposed yet." Her voice was unemotional, and Thorin shook his head in amusement. She was being petty now, but he supposed she was entitled. "But since he's here, I suppose… Aye, I'm marrying Master Dwarf." She still hadn't looked at him.

"Well, that is all very… unexpected, of course…" Lear mumbled, and Thorin saw the Gondorian's face drop.

"I beg your pardon, Master Lear, but we have had an arrangement. You cannot possibly recede from our agreement." He then turned to Wren, who was now studying him, her brows frowned. "My lady, I wish you could see sense. We are a well matched couple. Your gift in healing, and your temper..."

Wren's sudden loud laugh interrupted his mannered speech.

"Are you aware, Master Aldacar, that this is the first time you are directing your arguments regarding this marriage at me? And what do you know about my temper? You haven't even talked to me once in the three weeks that you are residing in my house." Her face had grown cold and disdainful, and Thorin smirked. He, unlike the Gondorian, knew her temper; and watching another man trial it was entertaining.

"My lady..." the Gondorian tried again, in a feigned patient tone, "As I understand, you see Master Dwarf's proposal as a more prudent financial arrangement, but I have to remind you that other factors have to be considered here. Even if you gain a wealthier husband, your disobedience and your argumentative character will be even less appreciated in a marriage with one of them."

Thorin made a step ahead, red haze quickly clouding his vision, when Wren's voice halted him for a tad.

"You're an idiot, aren't you? I haven't seen it before. I just thought you were cold, but you're quite thick apparently." Her face remained calm and pensive, while the Man's twisted in an enraged grimace. He whipped his head and glared at Master Lear.

"You have to teach your daughters to keep their mouth shut, Master Merchant," the Gondorian hissed, baring his teeth. "No one would purchase such rotten goods!"

Watching the Gondorian fold in half with a pained cry when Thorin's fist met with his stomach was endlessly rewarding. The blow with the cane's handle across his face was less, since it rendered the floor rather messy.

Wren gasped at the background, and Master Lear rushed to Thorin, probably to grab him. It was unnecessary. Thorin was done. He wiped the blood and spit off the handle on the doublet on the Gondorian's shoulder, and stepped back.

"I think I need air," Wren muttered, and rushed out of the room.

Thorin turned to the master.

"Maiar help me, I will regret this, won't I?" the Man mumbled, and then two of Wren's brothers stuck their heads into the study, probably having heard the noise.

"Take him away." The master pointed at the Gondorian. "I will talk to him later. And the compensation for this will go out of your pocket, Master Dwarf."

He tsk tsked, rubbed his neck, and shot Thorin a grin, and the latter knew this part of his new circumstances had been settled on good terms.

* * *

Another part of his new circumstances was sitting on a bench in the yard, dangling her feet.

Thorin walked up to her, and the small feet halted.

"I shouldn't have called him an idiot. It was mean." Thorin blinked and then understood that she was talking about the Gondorian. He had just ensured her hand in marriage, and she was talking about the Gondorian! "He had some family debts, and I was an easy solution to his aggravation."

Thorin sat down, since clearly he would have to wait for an invitation for ages, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"It doesn't excuse the three weeks though," she continued, and then turned to him and quickly kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I'm so relieved this torture is over. These were the worst three weeks in my life. It was like they had been beating me up every night." She gave him her usual warm smile. "I'm so grateful that you put an end to it. I think I could forgive my father with time. He clearly sees nothing wrong in treating a living being like a cart of furs, and he thought he was arranging my life in the best of ways. Are we going to live here when we marry?"

"So, we are to marry then?" he asked, chuckling, and she widened her eyes at him in surprise. He just couldn't keep up with her mind, and somehow that was… endearing.

"I thought that was what you asked for. Have you changed your mind?"

Containing his laughter was becoming harder and harder with each second. There was sincere worry written on her face, and he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her to his lips. He had felt starved, and the memories of that last fleeting kiss had already faded, so he was now tasting, and learning, and enjoying himself immensely. She jerked in his arms in the first second, probably wanting to blurt some more of her convoluted, verbose statements, but then she sighed, and leaned ahead, and her arms went around his neck. And then she climbed on his lap, and it felt just right.

Half an hour later, still on the same spot, and as he suspected, purposefully left alone by the other members of the household, they were still behaving most inappropriately. Her fingers were running his hair, and she shifted her greedy hot mouth onto his neck. He felt her teeth graze his throat, and he sucked a breath in. Once she came over her first timidness - and he already knew it about her - she was like a forge fire - swift, hungry, insatiable. That unfinished chess match was looking like a child's play now.

She moved back and looked him over with shining eyes.

"Will I be allowed to brush your hair now?" she asked, and twirled a lock around her finger. He watched the silver slide on her skin.

"Only after the wedding," he answered, and quickly kissed her lips. "Only a wife is allowed to brush a Dwarf's hair. There are strict traditions, regarding braids, patterns, and beads."

"Oh?" She rounded her red lips, and he brushed his nose to the flaming cheekbone. The skin was smooth, and warm, and he felt a delicate bone underneath. "So, I was improper to even ask it then."

"You were very much improper. You paraded by me in tight bodices, climbed on my lap, and harassed an aging Dwarf relentlessly." He chuckled, and traced the line of her jaw with his nose. "You were driving me mad," he whispered, and pressed his lips to a vein beating on her neck.

She dropped her head back, and he saw her eyes close with a flutter of lashes.

"You are driving me mad now," she whispered back, and he hardly heard the words, mesmerised by the taste of the skin, and the arch of the narrow elegant back, and all of her moving and breathing and giving her to him completely.

"Good..." he rasped out, kissing the muscle between the neck and the shoulder, not remembering what he was answering to. "That is very, very good..."

* * *

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 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	14. A Balcony

"I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! How could he have done this to us?" Kili was hollering, pacing Fili's study. "Just to show up like that! Without as much as a letter! All these years!"

Fili sat at his desk. The conversation between his mother, Kili, and Thorin had passed exactly how Fili had expected. Thorin and Dis led a decorous discussion; he told her of his life; she spoke of the renovations in Erebor and their dwelling in Ered Luin. And Kili stood in the corner, pale, and silent.

And after Thorin retired to his rooms, no doubt to prepare for the revels that were to take place in the evening; and Lady Dis went to her halls to unpack; Kili had stormed into Fili's parlour, and was now thrashing in the study, like a caged bear, eyes flashing, his whole body shaking.

"He had lived! He had lived! And married that woman!" Fili jolted, but remained quiet. "Did you see him?!" For some reason, Kili pointed at the door. "Nothing perturbs him! Nothing! As if he doesn't understand what he's done to us."

"Kili, you need to calm yourself," Fili answered levelly, and his brother gapes at him.

"How can you be so… forgiving?! He'd lied to us for years! He's just lived his life! Not a thought of us!"

Fili, of course, had a response to every accusation Kili was shouting out, but Fili knew there was no sense in voicing out his thoughts. He could tell to Kili that Thorin had not lied. And that he indeed had lived his life, the way he thought right; and when he thought it was time to come back, he did. And as hurt as Fili himself felt, he just couldn't feel as angry as Kili did. Because he knew Thorin had thought of them through these years - it was just not the way Kili wanted to be given a thought to.

"And now he just shows up, with that woman, and that half-blood child! And he behaves like a king, and again, I'm treated like a child!" Kili chopped the air with a tense hand. "He just smiled to me, that benevolent smile of his!"

Kili made another circle around the room.

"And he spoke of his life now. Of his boats! He has boats, did you know?" Kili's lips twisted in a venomous smirk. "I don't understand… How could he has changed so much?"

"He hasn't, brother," Fili answered softly. "Just as you said, he's living the life he wants now. All we can do is to be joyous that he lived; and that he's happy now."

"Happy? How could he possibly be happy?" Kili once again pointed at the door. "He lives with the Long ones! He's a merchant! And that horrid woman!"

"Watch your words, Kili," Fili interrupted his brother. "Lady Wren is Uncle's wife, and it's not your place to place any judgement on their union."

"Are you mad? She can't be his wife! She's of Men, and not the best of them as far as I can see."

Fili's palm slammed into the table, and Kili's eyes widened.

"You will not speak of what you know nothing of." Fili could hear how raspy and menacing his own voice was. White cold fury was rising, and he took a shuddered breath in taking it under control. "You are emotional right now, I understand; but you need to remember to show respect."

Kili jerked his chin up.

"Very well, my lord," Kili sneered through gritted teeth, and gave Fili a theatrical bow. "Should I be sent to my room now?"

Fili sighed, and watched Kili sharply turn and leave the room.

* * *

Lady Wren was absent during the feast that evening - and the day after it. A lot of mead was drunk, many songs were sung; and Lady Dis had to finally be carried out of the festivities halls, her loud snoring heard even over the music and the laughter. Thorin was sitting at the central table, but his elbow would constantly slide off its edge, and he had to catch himself from dropping his clearly heavy head on the table. Kili was still standing, and hollering songs with Bofur.

Fili stepped out onto a balcony, looking over an inner courtyard, and he dropped his head back and took a deep breath. His head was spinning, and he rubbed his face with his hands.

"My lord," a quiet voice came from behind, and he turned, fighting nausea that rose from the movement.

Torunn stood behind him, leaning onto the door frame. Her large dark eyes were shining, and he saw a goblet precariously held between the middle finger and the thumb of her left hand.

"Lady Torunn," Fili greeted her, and smiled lopsidedly. Through the mist of all the mead he'd consumed, she was even more alluring.

"My lord," she repeated, and chuckled.

"Lady Torunn," he drew out, continuing their ridiculous game. She laughed openly now, and stepped to the balcony. She leaned onto the railing, onto her elbows, and then the goblet slid out of her fingers, swooshed down, and they heard a loud clank against the stone of the passage below.

"Oops," she whispered, and he snorted.

"Let's hope you didn't slay some unsuspecting guard underneath," he joked, and she threw him an askance glance from under long black lashes.

"As long as it's not one of my engineers." Her tone was teasing, and he shook his head with a small laugh.

"Are your forges all that matters to you, Lady Torunn?"

"They are _your_ forges, my lord. I am but a simple craftsman." She straightened up, turned, and leaned her back against the railing. "And no, the forges are not all that matters to me."

Fili took a step forward, some merry excitement running his veins. She lifted her heart-shaped face to him, the dark deep eyes smiling to him.

"And does something of importance happen to bring you to this balcony, Lady Torunn?" He lowered his voice, and his eyes dropped to her curled up, tempting lips.

"Your Uncle is what brought me to this balcony," she answered, her voice trembling with laughter, and he froze. "He told me you wanted to talk to me. No one refuses Thorin Oakenshield, after all," she jested, but all of a sudden his sense of humour failed him.

He inhaled, gathering his wits, and slightly moved away from her.

"My Uncle..." His voice was raspy and disobedient.

"Aye. He said you wished to discuss… renovations." Her voice wrapped around the last word flirtatiously, and Fili saw red.

"Excuse me, Lady Torunn."

He twirled on his heels, and marched back into the hall.

* * *

"Where is he?" he barked, grabbing the closest Dwarf by the sleeve. "Thorin - where is he?"

The Khuzd, unstable on his feet, and grinning ear to ear, pointed somewhere into the depth of the hall, and Fili threw the Dwarf's arm aside, and marched at the indicated direction. He had to shove through the dancers in the center of the chamber, and couple times his shoulder met other's painfully, but he was breathing in painful sharp gasps, and rushing through the crowd.

Thorin wasn't at the table, and Balin, inebriated and once again tearful, informed Fili that his Uncle had already retired.

* * *

From the sudden rush of emotions, and from the spirits sloshing in his blood, Fili's vision was blurred. Passages flashed before his eyes, and his heart was painfully thrashing behind the rib cage.

He wasn't sure what he'd say to Thorin when he found him; and what he would do if Thorin had already been in his halls. Would he bang at the doors? Or yell and complain like a petulant child, just like his brother?

Thankfully, Thorin hadn't reached his bedchambers when Fili caught up with him in the passage. The Dwarf was walking slowly, leaning on his cane, and Fili had a strange moment of hesitation. As if he hadn't recognised his Uncle for the first moment. And then he realised that it was the pearly white hair that had thrown him off at first. But then the posture, and the strut, even with the limp, became familiar again, and Fili called after Thorin.

Thorin turned around, and gave Fili a tired smirk.

"Not that young anymore, Fili," he grumbled with a chuckle. "You continue your festivities, I need my bed." He then barked a short laugh, and turned away to continue walking.

"You have no right to meddle!" Fili shouted, and Thorin stopped. "No right! I am the King Under the Mountain! You have no word in it!"

Thorin slowly turned and gave him a heavy look. The thick brows drew together.

"What are you about, Fili?" The tone was irritated, and Fili grew livid.

"I am talking about Torunn! About choosing a bride for me! And meddling!" Fili swayed, feeling inebriation clouding his gaze, from all the blood that was now running even faster. "The next thing, you will start telling me how to rule! And where to send my merchants! And what metal to choose for the forges!"

Thorin tilted his head and looked Fili over.

"Go to sleep, Fili. You are drunk, and sound like a child."

Fili knew it was all true, but his hands were shaking, and his ears were ringing; and all the pent up frustration was pushing him to speak again.

"Balin said you advised him on an expedition to Moria. You told Dwalin to consider the Blue Mountains to dwell in. What's next? Dain is arriving next week. Will you suggest he rules Erebor? Since you're clearly dissatisfied with my efforts!" Fili ordered himself to close him mouth, but words poured and poured.

And then Thorin just turned around and continued walking. As if nothing was said. As if Fili's preposterous whining didn't ring and bounce off the walls.

"Thorin! I am not done talking!"

"You are."

Fili lunged ahead, and his hand lay on Thorin's shoulder. His fist clenched, around the thick velvet of the doublet, and then a door at the other end of the passage opened, and Wren stepped out. She was dressed in something white, and soft, and her hair was scattered on the shoulders.

"Thorin?" Her widened eyes shifted between them, and Fili jerked his hand.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

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 **rodhina dot komakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

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 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **5\. JukePop:** **Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_**

a parody on romance/erotic novels {COMPLETE}

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _also_

 ** _Better Than One_**

a parody on romance/erotic and mystery/adventure/supernatural novels {UPDATED EVERY THURSDAY}

 _Summary:_ A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists.

Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer, mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance, a treasure map, a secret cave, and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and erotica is abundant and gratuitous!

 **6. My art is available on:**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	15. First Blood

And then even more anger rose, and somehow because of her, of how scared she looked, how fragile, her long-fingered delicate hands pressed to her chest… Why didn't Thorin take care of her? Fili screamed in his mind. Why didn't Thorin care? For her needs, for her desires, for her!..

And Fili swung the fist of his left one backwards, both his arms equally deft, trained with the two swords, and he tugged at the doublet with his right one, turning Thorin's body, to expose the cheekbone, the face. The blow flew, his body rushed ahead…

…and Thorin tilted, avoiding the blow, his eyes suddenly sharp and calm in front of Fili, and he shifted his weight, and then his cane cut Fili's under his knees.

Fili gasped, let go of the doublet, and slumped on the floor.

"Thorin!" Wren's voice rang through the passage, and he turned to her. And then Fili saw anger distort Thorin's features.

"Go back into the room, Wren!" he barked at her, and Fili saw red. He twisted his body on the floor, and slammed his foot into Thorin's ankle. It was childish, dishonourable, and so unlike him!

Thorin hissed a swearing in Khuzdul, wobbled, and fell on top of Fili, his elbow and cane jamming into Fili's ribs.

Instead of a fight to vent his rightful indignation, Fili received a clumsy drunk kerfuffle. Which continued, to his utter shame, when Thorin rolled on the floor, and tried to punch him. Fili caught his arm, but awkwardly, and Thorin's fist still reached Fili's jaw. And then the second hand locked around Fili's jaw. The young Dwarf made a choking noise, and kicked Thorin, aiming his knee below the waist. He missed, but hit the knee of the wounded leg, and Thorin groaned and released his throat.

Something white and copper swung in Fili's peripheral vision, and suddenly he was cold and wet, and his heart stopped, and then started booming in his throat, suffocating him. He started coughing, and then realised that Wren had just toppled a bucket of cold water on the two of them on the floor.

"What are you doing?! Are you both mad?! Someone will see!" She was shaking, pressing the empty bucket to her chest, and Fili sat up.

Thorin was lying on the floor, supporting himself on one elbow, coughing as well.

"That's quite an ordinary happenstance between the Dwarves, my heart," Thorin jeered through his teeth in a venomous tone. "Their wives hardly use icy water to stop it, though."

"Well, I'm no Dwarven wife," Wren hissed back at him, and then met Fili's eyes. "What came over you?!"

"Mead," Fili answered quickly. "A lot of mead. And Uncle is right. It's quite customary." He felt that telling Wren that a Dwarven wife would just join the punch-up would be insensitive. She had told him before that she felt she wasn't fulfilling her responsibilities as Thorin's wife properly.

Wren made a scornful 'pfft' noise, turned her back to them, and marched to the room.

The Dwarves looked at each other.

"You need to have that looked at," Thorin grumbled, and pointed at Fili's face with his eyes. Fili touched his cheek, and felt warm blood trickling on it.

"How's your leg, Uncle?" he asked, not wishing to be the only one with injuries after this preposterous punch-up.

Thorin groaned and got up, holding to the wall.

"Come," he made an inviting gesture towards his room. "Wren is a healer. She'll look at your cheekbone."

Fili sighed, but obeyed.

They walked to the room slowly, Thorin limping more than usual, Fili feeling suddenly exhausted. His head felt heavy, and there was some unpleasant haze it.

Thorin entered the parlour and heavily dropped in the nearest armchair.

"Wren, we need your help!" he called loudly, and then started studying a tapestry on the wall, his eyes unfocused. Fili sat down on a settee, and dropped his face on open palms.

Fili heard soft steps and lifted his face. Wren came into the room. She had thrown a dark green velvet robe over the night dress, and she was pulling at the ends of the belt, tying it tightly. Thorin by then had dropped his head at the back of his armchair and closed his eyes.

"I think my nephew needs his wounds tended to," Thorin muttered, without opening his eyes. His face was serene, features relaxed.

Wren looked at Fili, pressed her lips in a stern line, and went through a side door, into a small study.

The Dwarves sat in silence. Fili's lids were feeling heavier, but then Thorin's lazy voice shook him out of his stupor.

"You're wrong, you know. I think you made a great King."

Fili doubted he'd heard these words as soon as the last sound of them died out in the silent room.

Thorin then straightened up in the chair, sighed, and then rose slowly, pressing his hands into the armrests, muscles bulging under the doublet. He then slowly walked towards the door to the bedchamber, and stopped, and made some vague wave-like movement with his hand.

"Get my cane from the passage afterwards, would you?"

He then made a few more awkward steps and disappeared behind the door. It closed behind him with a soft sound.

Wren came into the parlour carrying a basin of water, cloths, and a healer's sack.

Fili wanted to refuse, politely of course, but he suddenly had no strength left. So, he just sat in the chair, while she arranged the supplies on a small table near him. She leaned in, a wet cloth in her hand, and then swiftly and tightly pressed it to his cheek. He involuntarily jerked, trying to wince away, and her left hand lay at his nape, not allowing him to move away.

"Don't," she muttered absent-mindedly, her eyes trained on his face. It was unnerving.

She rinsed the cloth and repeated the procedure.

She then started rummaging in the healer's sack. Fili stared at the copper crown of her hair. He hadn't seen it like this, scattered on her shoulders, instead of a neat braid it had always been contained it. It shone and moved, and he wondered how the silken waves would feel between his fingers.

She fished out a small jar of some balm, and dunking a clean cloth in it, she moved even closer to his face. The sharp smelling balm was dabbed into the bruise on his jaw, and he was looking at her slanted bright eyes, the frowned brows, the delicate bridge of the nose.

Neither of them spoke. And then her gaze shifted, and she met his eyes.

"Are you feeling better?" she whispered, and he watched the red lips move.

"Thank you, the balm is already helping," he answered, and she exhaled sharply.

"I meant, after the fight. Do you feel better? Was it not the point?" She then straightened up, and pretended to be busy with the lid on the jar. He knew she only pretended since her nose was twitching nervously.

Fili was feeling more and more tired and muddled with each second, and he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to gather his scattering thoughts.

"I thought I would, but… I only feel like I was beat up. Like I… did something wrong. As if it were me who needs to apologise."

"No one needs to apologise," she answered quietly, her eyes on the lid. "He thinks he is doing everyone a favour. They ask for his opinion, and he tells them what he thinks is the best solution. You feel that he's meddling and questioning your authority. He came to finally visit his family, when he thought the time was right. No one else sees it his way. And I don't think any of the sides will ever agree with the other."

She sighed, and put the jar back in the sack.

"And what about you?" Fili asked.

"What about me?" she gave him a confused look. "No one is asking for my opinion."

"So, you will just let him drag you along and… stuff you in a cupboard for now?" Fili didn't know where these rude and inconsiderate words came from. He wanted to apologize right away, but Wren was already leaving the room.

"Good night, my lord," she threw over her shoulder. Her tone was cold.

Fili sat in the empty parlour for a few long minutes, and then left.

* * *

Wren came into the bedroom. All lights were out, and she took off the robe, and slid into the bed. Thorin lay on his side, his back to her.

Wren felt she hardly saw him these days, and she sighed mournfully, and moved to him, and pressed her forehead to his nape. He stirred, but didn't move. Wren sighed again, her eyes slowly closing.

"What did the two of speak of just now?" he suddenly asked in a completely sober voice, and Wren jolted.

"Maiar help me, I thought you were asleep…" she breathed out. He started rolling over, and she moved away giving him room. His eyes were suddenly in front of her, blue and piercing, and she frowned. "What do you mean what we talked about? Fili and I?"

"Yes, Fili and you. What did you talk about?" His tone was grave and urgent. Wren wasn't sure what to answer, and what sort of question it had been in the first place. She also felt thirsty, so she lifted her hand, to stretch it towards a glass and a jug of water on a table near her side of the bed, when Thorin caught her hand and pulled her closer. She stared at him in surprise.

"Wren?" Was she detecting a hint of menacing tone to his voice? "What did you and Fili speak of?"

 _ **To be continued...**_


	16. Talk

Thorin was jealous. It was most preposterous - and yet he knew certainly that he was. Wren of course didn't see it, she didn't see Fili's looks, and how his hand lingered near hers. Wren was virtuous, and innocent; and too noble to accept even the faintest idea of it, even if she'd noticed anything.

Thorin was old; he knew life; and he was a man of flesh and blood. He recognised the hunger in Fili's eyes, and the interest, and the thirst for her time, her attention, her touch, which were growing each day in front of Thorin's eyes. And jealousy ate at him, every day, more and more.

It took him some time to understand it, of course. He was hardly adept in interpreting emotions. He'd never had the need to. He'd been expected to lead his people, and then there had been the quest. He was the child of war. What did he know of loving someone? Of being a husband? A lover?

He probably wouldn't have guessed what his torment was, if not for the memories of those moons when he'd already known he loved her, but hadn't seen a way to make her his. He felt just as irked now, as helpless; and everything made him mad - and Wren herself especially.

He'd never, in the ten years of their marriage, felt anything was lacking in the character of his wife. He admired her, he loved her, he desired her. She was his wife, and it felt just right.

And suddenly everything seemed tarnished; every word and every gesture tortured him, with suspicion, with reproach he saw in her gazes, her touches - as if he was compared to Fili, and lost at comparison.

It was preposterous, and he had no name for it for the longest time; and even now when he understood himself, he couldn't stop!

He had just snapped at her, in the passage, in front of Fili! He'd sent her in their rooms, as if a naughty child. Even worse so, he'd probably be more decorous towards Thror in such situation. He raised his voice! He'd never in the ten years thought he had the right to treat her with anything but utmost respect. She had been the most precious for him, and he had always treated her as such.

And now, her narrow wrist was clasped in his hand, and she was staring at him with her mesmerising slanted eyes, shocked and widened.

He let go and opened his mouth to apologize.

"I do not understand what you're asking about," she answered before he spoke, her tone haughty. Of course, she didn't, he thought. He exhaled loudly and gritted his teeth. He was confused, and frustrated. And all those other emotions, which Wren could give names to, and he couldn't, were making him angry, and muddled; and he scoffed.

"Well, you did talk, didn't you? While you patched up his face. What did you talk about?"

She was sitting in front of him, the thin nightdress as if glowing in the darkness of the bedroom. He could see the outline of her delicate shoulders, and the soft swirls of her locks.

"We spoke of your fight. And how it brought no relief," she answered indifferently. She'd never been indifferent! She was supposed to worry, and fret, and to look him in the eyes, and to know how he felt and what he needed, and cup the back of his head just like he liked, and to ask him if anything hurt. And then Thorin felt irritated by his own pathetic mawkish thoughts.

"Anything else?" He once again sounded less considerate that he'd ever been before - and much ruder that he'd wished.

She studied his face for a few seconds.

"I am going to sleep," she suddenly announced, and he felt his jaw slack. He'd thought he was used to the zigzags of her thinking by now, but she had managed to surprise him yet again! "You're clearly leading a conversation I'm not following. And I'm too exhausted and too affected to try to decipher your thoughts," she said firmly. "You want to talk about something, but on the other hand, you never actually want to talk. I'm supposed to untangle your thoughts, help you understand them, then I'm to voice them, and then answer to them myself. And I think..." She jerked her chin up. "This time you'll have to do it yourself. For once."

And then she lay down, decisively pulled the covers over her, and turning her back to him, she dared to conclude it with, "Good night, Thorin."

Thorin gawked at the copper curls of his wife, and then he frowned, opened his mouth, and then closed it. He lay down as well, feeling only more troubled and angry. And in this situation his first impulse was to turn to her and ask her advice… and then he remembered that it was exactly the impossibility to do it that was the reason for his current unnerving state.

He scowled, turned away from her, and still frowning he fell into slumber.

* * *

The next morning she behaved just as usual, but it only made him more remorseful. And even more irked - since he didn't know what he was remorseful for, besides the obvious mistreating her the night before. But he sensed vaguely that the jealousy itself was somehow offensive to her. She, after all, hadn't done anything to cause such emotions in him.

During breakfast she was chatting with Thror, twirling a spoon in her fingers, and he watched the pale hand move. What was it that he felt? Fear of losing her? Was it the terrifying thought of her suddenly seeing another the same way she claimed to see him that turned his spine icy and rigid? She'd always said he was the best man she'd ever known. And now he could see the admiration in her eyes when she spoke to or of Fili. They danced a lot at the revels. They spent time together in the library. Fili defended her in front of Dis. Thorin wasn't blind - he understood then that Fili invited her in his study to shield her from his Mother. Then, Thorin felt grateful. Now, to his own shame, he was almost rageful.

And then a fork fell out of his hand on the plate with a clank. He was staring at Wren, and she met his eyes.

"Thorin?" Her tone was soft, and he shook his head and hid behind his tea cup.

She went back to her conversation with Thror - while Thorin was taking slow careful breaths in.

After breakfast, Thorin called a servant and asked them to take Thror to the training yard where he knew Fili and Kili were practicing archery. The boy had been asking for a while to watch. He was of course hoping to try Kili's bow as well.

Wren was standing in the parlour, a shawl in her hands. She looked surprised, but he had already made the decision, and wasn't going to let anything detain him.

He took the shawl out of her hand, threw it at some piece of furniture, and pulled her after him into the bedchambers. She was mumbling in a confused tone behind him, "I was to go with Thror… Thorin, it's morning, and you're surely expected somewhere… It is hardly the time..."

He pushed her into the room, and locked the door behind them, and pulled at her bodice. And she was still standing, staring at him, and muttering something, and he grabbed the back of her head, and pulled her in, and kissed her greedily.

She responded, but it still seemed to him that she was holding back, that it was now not how it used to be, and it terrified him, and spurred him more. And he pushed her on the bed, jerking at her clothes, and something tore, and he just wanted to silence his thoughts. And to feel that all was well. That she was here, and she was his.

* * *

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Wren was breathing evenly near him, and he screwed his eyes at her. She wasn't asleep, although the eyes were closed.

"I wasn't… It wasn't what I wanted," he mumbled, and the cat like eyes opened.

"You surely didn't seem unwilling," she deadpanned.

"I wanted to talk," he grumbled. "This was just..."

She gave him a mocking look, and he squirmed on the sheets.

She sat up, pressing a cover to her chest.

"Well, whatever it was that you wanted instead, this was… most pleasing," she said in a level tone, and stretched her hand to her undertunic that was half hanging off the bed.

"We still haven't talked!" he exclaimed, feeling even more awkward now. He shouldn't have let his desire overpower his head! She looked at him over her shoulder.

"Oh?" Her bright red lips folded in a circle, and her eyes were cold. Or at least seemed such to him.

"Would you stop… punishing me?" he as much as roared, and then winced away from his own tone. He had a revelation at breakfast! He'd decided to talk to her! He had had a plan! And instead he was now naked, confused, and she was giving him that serene look of hers that had been driving him mad for years. The same look she'd been giving him before he finally gathered his wits to ensure her hand in marriage. It was a look of acceptance - she accepted he was flawed, and she bore this burden patiently! He didn't want to be a burden she bore! He wanted her to look at him as if she believed he was worth her!

"I am not punishing you," she answered slowly.

"What do you want me to say?! What am I supposed to do? I know… I know there is a fault on me, but I don't know what it is." He continued his pitiful barking, and her eyebrows rose even higher. "Just tell me already what to do!"

"Thorin, I'm quite sure that until yesterday you had been in pleasant certainty that everything was going quite well, and that everyone around you was content. I do not understand your current preoccupation."

It was that tone again! She used it with everyone around him! With her family, who were intimidated by her strangeness, and her mind, and as any small minded people did, ignored and avoided her! With that worm Aldacar! But never with him! This tone was not for him! She had chosen him! She couldn't take it away!

That was what he'd understood at the breakfast - he was most scared that she'd stop being his Wren! She'd let him see her! The real her, hiding behind a calm face, and delicate manners. She'd never leave, she'd never be unfaithful - but that undetermined something, the essence, the spirit, or whatever in the name of Mahal it was - it was disappearing out of his grasp. And there was Fili there, to pick it up, to listen to her when she spoke; to carry her books from the library, as Thorin had once seen the two of them.

And this fear, this torture was vague, and foreign to him. He wanted his simple life back. He had chosen to live then, after he'd fallen, because she would come to his room, and bothered him, and made him alive, and warm, and there were flowers in her hair, and they had been there for him!

"Wren, you know I can't… I don't know how to say these things..." he grumbled, and she sighed and pulled the cover higher.

"I don't know what 'these things' are, Thorin; so I can hardly help you."

"You do know!" He scowled at her, but she just continued sitting. "You're angry with me, and you have every..."

"I'm not angry with you," she interrupted. "You were behaving unseemingly yesterday, but I understand it was mead that caused it. I am married to a Dwarf. I suppose, it was to be expected."

Was it what it was about? Thorin wondered, noticing how her voice wavered around these words.

"Wren, I understand Erebor is foreign to you, but I made sure you were greeted and tended to with utmost respect. I don't think I've seen anyone mistreat you or Thror; but if you have any complaints..."

She suddenly made a scornful 'pfft' noise, jumped off the bed, and marched to the bath chamber. He was left in the bed, alone, his mouth still open mid speech, gawking at the disappearing naked buttocks of his wife.


	17. Thror

**A/N: While struggling with two drawing commissions, I decided fanfiction was the perfect way to de-stress today! :) So, double update today. Don't miss the next chapter!**

 **A/N#2: Have a look at my new romance/erotica webserial on Wattpad titled _Jack in the Box._ Same nick there: kkolmakov/Katya Kolmakov. Some characters in the story might be vaguely familiar! Let's face it, I am still determined to explore the possibilities of Thorin/Wren/Bilbo (with a dash of John Watson) dynamics ;)**

 **Cheers,**

 **K. K.**

* * *

 _A year ago..._

Wren ran through the yard and pushed the door into the infirmary. It slammed into the wall with a bang, and she rushed to the cot.

Thror was sitting on it, the front of his tunic soaked in blood. He was pressing a crumpled piece of cheesecloth to his face.

"What happened?" Wren quickly started washing her hands in a basin by the wall.

"He hit himself to the face with the shield," Thorin answered. He was standing near the boy, giving him an amused look over. "I believe all teeth are still in place, though."

"Did you see the blood fly, father?" Thror mumbled from behind the cloth, and then cringed from pain. His eyes were shiny and excited.

"He hit himself?" Wren tied the apron, and came up to Thror.

"Aye. He blocked Duilin's blow, and sent him falling." Thorin's voice was laced with pride. Duilin was Wren's nephew, a large and burly youngling of fourteen. Thror's head hardly reached his chest. "And then he flung his own shield into his face."

"Maiar help me," Wren mumbled. The two of them looked too gleeful to her taste.

"It doesn't hurt, mother." Thror gave her a guilty look. Wren pinned the boy down with a stare. Dwarven children didn't lie, and Thror lowered his head. "It does, but it is getting better now."

Wren took the cloth out of Thror's hands. The lip was broken, and there was a cut in the gum; but indeed, the teeth were all in place. He needed stitches, and Wren sighed. She'd have to ask another healer to treat him. If possible, she'd prefer not to poke her own child with a curved birchtree needle.

"It was alright, mother," Thror continued his one-sided muttering. He clearly was worried Wren would prohibit his training with older boys. "It happens."

Wren patted his head and went to find Araval. He was the best with delicate stitching.

While the healer was treating Thror's wound, Wren stood aside, trying not to look. At some point she peeked, and saw that Thorin's hand was comfortingly lying on the boy's shoulder. Araval moved, and she saw muscles clench on Thror's jaw. His hand flew up and grabbed his father's fingers.

"I did it twice in your age," Thorin suddenly announced in an offhanded tone. "I trained with my lieutenant then. His name was Dwalin. He was taller than me then. First time it was the shield. The second time the training sword. We used to joke one didn't need enemies to fight; we harmed ourselves enough."

Thror screwed his eyes at his father. Wren saw him exhale slowly.

"You're better than I was at your age. Faster." Thorin gave Thror the warm smile that Wren loved so much - eyes crinkled, corners of lips curled up.

The needle went in again, and Wren quickly turned away.

* * *

After Araval was done, Wren and Thror went up to the rooms. He needed a bath and fresh clothes. A maid brought hot water, and Wren sat in the parlour adjoin to the bath chambers.

She heard the stairs screech, and she recognised Thorin's slow, uneven steps. Despite the speed and agility with which he moved when sparring, when walking he still limped heavily.

He pushed the door into the room, and threw her a cautious look.

Wren laughed.

"You both look so guilty, as if expecting me to be mad." She patted the bench near her.

"A woman of Men would be," he answered and sat near her. Wren gave him an amused look.

"It was training. He smacked himself to the face. You couldn't prevent it, and it'll teach him to watch out for his own arms next time." Wren rocked and gently bumped her shoulder into his. "And besides, I imagine the scare you had is worse than any ridiculous scolding a woman could unleash on you."

He chuckled, and then turned on the bench, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in. She embraced him tightly in return.

"It's different when it's your own child." There was surprise in his voice, and Wren laughed softly. She stroked the back of his head, feeling the silken pearly waves under her palm.

"Of course it is."

"I had it with my sistersons, though... The same fear..." He now spoke in a whisper, and Wren stilled. He rarely spoke of his past, and she treasured such moments. "It was worse with the younger one. He always seemed hurt, or crying… The older one… Fili had always been strong. But when their father died, I was already a king-in-the-exile. I wasn't a good guardian to them."

Wren felt acute sympathy towards him, but knew better than to show it.

"There were always other matters to think about. I missed so much," he continued, but then he let her go and straightened on the bench, his face already reserved.

"You aren't missing anything with Thror," Wren answered softly. "You will see all his broken lips and all his stitches."

"That was terrifying." Thorin gave out a low unnerved chuckle. "I've seen battles, and… And then that needle..." He shook his head, and Wren patted his upper arm.

"You seemed calm. He needed it." She pointed with her eyes at the door of the bathchamber.

"I do not know how to be a father," Thorin said suddenly, and then looked aside, as if shying away from his own admission.

"You could have deceived me," Wren answered lightly. Thorin gave her a side glance.

"I treat him as a Dwarven child… He isn't a Dwarf. He doesn't live among the Khazad either," he grumbled.

"You treat him with respect. The respect that is rarely shown to adults in the cities of Men." Wren cupped Thorin's face, and made him look at her. "I couldn't have wished for a better father for my son."

There was a thud of a wooden bucket in the next room, and then the door opened, and Thror came into the parlour. One side of his face was now gaining a purple tinge, but he was smiling with the healthy half of his mouth. Wren gave a loving look to the same noble profile as his father's, the soft dark locks scattered on the shoulders, and the proud, very Dwarven posture.

Thorin rose from the bench and opened a one arm embrace.

"Come, Thror. I have promised to show you the maps from the last trading journey."

The boy readily stepped to his father, and they left, immediately absorbed in a conversation. Wren followed them with her eyes, and then sighed and rose to go about her day.

* * *

That night, in their bed, she was already half asleep, exhausted after the eventful day, and the love that they had made twice, when Thorin stirred and softly touched her shoulder. She hummed questioningly.

"I think it is time we travel to Erebor." Thorin's tone was almost nonchalant, and Wren's eyes flew open. She sharply turned and stared at him. His face was pensive, eyes distant.

"Pardon?"

He sighed and finally looked at her.

"Thror is now old enough to travel that far. Both you and I are healthy. It is time we go."

Wren opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had none. They had never discussed such journey! Wren had always thought that Thorin had no desire to return to his old life. He never shared any memories; showed no inclination to associate with any other of his race; and in the few times they had encountered any Dwarves in their travels, he would hardly engage in a conversation. She had always had a distinct impression that he as much as hid his identity from anyone who knew who Thorin, son of Thrain was.

"Thror needs to see what it means to be a Dwarf. He needs to see his kin," Thorin added thoughtfully.

"It had been almost nine years, Thorin," Wren muttered in astonishment. "Why now?"

He looked in her eyes as if not understanding the question.

"It has been a good year for the trade. We have enough guards and supplies to travel. And Thror is no babe anymore," he answered as if expecting it to be obvious.

"Should you perhaps… write your family a letter first?" Wren was staring at him. "They know nothing! They think you dead."

"If I write a letter, it'll change nothing. After a letter, we will still travel, because they would want to see me. Then why write it?"

Wren could see in his face that he sincerely couldn't quite conceive her disbelief!

"And it'll take time, and the winter will start," he continued listing the arguments, which clearly seemed utterly reasonable to him. "The roads will close. Next moon is the best time for it."

And then, as if that was the end of this conversation, he slid down under the covers, clearly settling to sleep!

"Thorin!" she exclaimed, and he gave her a questioning look. "It is… You can't just give me such news, and expect me to up and go across the world!"

"You have a moon to prepare," he answered. "Do you need more time?" His tone was considerate. "I understand you will have to organise matters in the house and the infirmary. Would you like me to assign a few men to help you?"

"But..." Wren pressed a hand to her forehead. "Maiar help me, it is not what I'm talking about! I didn't know you wanted to return to your kin."

"I never had," he deadpanned. "Not until we had Thror. But he is a half Dwarf, Wren. He needs to see Erebor. It won't be long. We will stay for a few moons." Thorin yawned.

"But your family! They think you dead!" Wren knew she was repeating herself, but it seemed they were speaking different languages.

Thorin patted the sheets near him. "We should sleep, Wren."

"We will not sleep! We are still discussing!" She gave him a glare, and he sighed one of his usual exasperated sighs. "Thorin!"

He made quite a spectacle out of sitting up with a groan, and then gave her an exaggerated expectant look.

"You never speak of Erebor. You do not speak of your family," Wren spoke in a forceful tone. "You left them in ignorance. I always thought you… didn't part well. I thought..." She shifted awkwardly on the sheets. "I thought you were betrayed, and that there was a mutiny."

"Dwarves do not rebel against their leaders," he answered haughtily.

"Then what? Why did you never write to them?"

"I was too… old," Thorin answered, and Wren gave him a stare of disbelief.

"Too old?!"

"Wren, I do not know how to say it!" He frowned and jerked his neck. "You know how to speak of such things. You know me well; surely, I do not need to explain!"

"And yet I'm failing to understand you at the moment."

He made a few huffy noises, but Wren kept an intent glare glued to his face. He gave in and spoke in a low voice, "When your company saved me, I just was… empty. I felt… brittle."

"Brittle?"

"Aye, brittle. That is as poetic as I can explain it," he said with a venomous note to his tone. "I came to, mid-way back to Enedwaith, and your father offered me to stay. I didn't care… It didn't matter where I was to spend my dotage. When we arrived, and they gave me the rooms, I was content to sit with the maps, and…"

"You were waiting for your passing!" Wren's head was spinning.

"Aye. I was old, grey; my body was broken. I didn't expect it to last long."

"But… you married me! You fathered a son!" she exclaimed, and he suddenly gave her an impish side glance.

"I gather, I had been wrong about myself." Wren opened her mouth again, then closed it, and then opened it again.

"If you remember, I did tell you right away that you were after a wrong man," he spoke first, and she closed the mouth with an audible clank of her teeth. He smirked to her, and Wren pushed her hands in her hair and ruffled.

"Can we go to sleep now?" he asked, and Wren puffed air out loudly.

"We... might as well," she finally answered. "I'm certain tomorrow I will have hundreds of things to say about it, and questions to ask, and… But at the moment my head feels empty."

"And I will gladly answer them..." he chuckled. "Most of them. For now, we should sleep."

He settled into the covers again, and Wren gave him an incredulous look. A large scorching hand lay on her bare hip, and he pulled, and she submitted, and lay down, and let him wrap his arms around her. She closed her eyes, feeling tension leave her body, in the familiar warmth of his embrace.

"It will be… pleasant to see them again," he whispered into her hair. "Dis, and Fili, and Kili… Balin..." He yawned loudly. "The company... Erebor should flourish now, with Fili as the king..."

Wren lay in the darkness of her bedroom, unable to sleep; while Thorin's breathing evened out, and the long heavy arm was now weighing on her even more.

* * *

 _ **To be continued... (Don't miss the second half of today's update.)**_


	18. Lost and Found

**A/N: While struggling with two drawing commissions, I decided fanfiction was the perfect way to de-stress today! :) So, double update today. Don't miss the previous chapter!**

 **A/N#2: Have a look at my new romance/erotica webserial on Wattpad titled _Jack in the Box._ Same nick there: kkolmakov/Katya Kolmakov. Some characters in the story might be vaguely familiar! Let's face it, I am still determined to explore the possibilities of Thorin/Wren/Bilbo (with a dash of John Watson) dynamics ;)**

 **Cheers,**

 **K. K.**

* * *

 _Present day..._

Wren grabbed the brush and started angrily pulling at her hair. The brute had turned her head into a nest! She exhaled, telling herself that she was being unfair. There had never been anything brutish in his treatment of her, and she was more than willing to participate in the deed that had caused her locks to roll into this horrid felt. She reminded herself that she had been moaning and arching into him, digging her heels into his backside, spurring him to move faster and rougher. No wonder, her hair was so tangled now.

Wren looked at herself in the large mirror on the wall. Her lips were pursed in a stubborn irritated line, and she scrutinised the expression on her face. Was she indeed punishing him like he'd just asked? He looked so confused and... lost. She'd never seen Thorin lost before.

He was right, though. Something was amiss in their marriage now. There was emptiness, a void growing between them - and it was her inexplicable apathy towards it that scared her most. The first weeks of the visit she was agitated, frustrated, scared, humiliated - at the moment she was numb.

He thought it was time for his family to see him; and for Thror to spend the time with his kin and his people; and there were more and more Dwarves arriving to Erebor every day to see him - and Wren could either share his view of it; or feel uneasy and hate every minute of it. Instead, she had frozen in some state of compliance. She let him go to festivities every night; she either went with him; she ate and danced - or stayed in their rooms and read.

The Dwarves didn't accept her - but she felt neither saddened; nor angry. She didn't try to fit in, neither she deemed it necessary to fight for her independence. She just lived day by day.

At the beginning, she was counting days, fearing that the visit would take longer than Thorin had planned; and when it did - she didn't care.

He seemed to enjoy the visit; she seemed to forget how to enjoy anything. Only with Thror she felt alive; the rest of the time she just read.

And yesterday he suddenly had tried to breach some subject, something that bothered him. And again this morning, after they came together, just now he was trying to talk, which was a feat in its own. Thorin, son of Thror trying to speak of feelings! And yet, she felt disinterested. She didn't help him as she would have before.

He was wrong. She wasn't punishing him. She just didn't have strength, or will to try to do anything about what her life was at the moment.

Something loudly banged in the bed chambers, and then something fell with a thud; a swearing came from behind the door; and then another bang.

Wren pulled on his tunic she found on the chair- she was feeling cold now that her body was cooling down after their love - and stepped into the bedchamber.

* * *

At first she thought Thorin was throwing things around, and she stopped in her tracks in the door, staring at him aghast. And then she realised that he had dragged their travelling trunks from the back room, and was hurling random objects into them.

"Thorin, what are you doing?!"

"We are going back to Enedwaith. The visit is over," he barked at her, and she saw Thror's boot make a wide arch across the air and land into the smaller trunk.

"Thorin, what are you talking about?"

"You aren't happy here. That's it then. That's all that matters. We're going home." He picked up her best evening dress, crumpled it into a sad ball, and threw it in a trunk. And then a pair of his dirty boots plopped on top of it.

Wren started laughing. She wasn't mocking. She just didn't know how to react, and the tension burst out of her in a chain of shrieky giggles.

"Have you gone mad?" she hiccuped between bursts of her laughter, and he stopped, one of his swords in one hand, and, for some reason, her stocking in another.

"Perhaps," he deadpanned, and she laughed only louder.

"You're naked." Wren decided it was worth mentioning. He looked down his body.

"I'm in my bed chambers. I can do whatever I want naked here!" he answered haughtily, and the sword and the stocking followed the previous items.

"Thorin, stop this!" she choked out, between bouts of sniggering. "What came over you?"

He puffed some air out - she hadn't expected an answer from him, to be honest - and plopped on the nearest bench.

"Will you help me to pack, or not?" he gritted through his teeth, and gave her a glare.

She shook her head and sat on the other end of the bench. She patted the floor with her bare foot, and she could hear his unhappy rumbly noises nearby. He tended to turn into sort of a boiling pot of growls and rumbles when he was agitated.

Wren looked around the wrecked room.

"Are you still… Will you talk now?" he grumbled under his nose, and she looked at him in confusion.

"I am talking to you."

"Not about all this flimflam!" he answered snappily. "About… what is wrong."

Wren frowned and studied his face. She couldn't understand what he was talking about.

"You are unhappy!" he announced loudly, as if it explained anything.

Wren felt a tinge of pity towards him. It were as of she'd try to speak smithery. She'd have neither understanding, nor words to express herself. Just as he did not.

He shifted on his naked backside and rubbed the back of his neck.

Wren sighed.

"Wren, you married me..." he started, but then stopped. Apparently, these words were even less satisfying to him.

She looked at him, and then her eyes slid on the pearly white waves. He was disheveled, and the thick plait on the right side of his face was unbraiding. She had pulled the bead off just now in their bed. She had grabbed his hair, and he was biting her shoulder, and she cried out, and pulled. She didn't notice, but she could bet the bead was now there, in the rumpled sheets.

"You haven't finished the visit yet..." she said, although of course she wanted to say quite a different thing.

"The visit is finished," he answered in a low voice.

Wren sighed again.

"Because I'm unhappy?"

"Aye. You're unhappy in Erebor. That's what is happening. That's why you..." He stopped himself from continuing again, and made a few more of the unhappy noises.

"That's why I what?" Wren asked, finally feeling something stir in her.

"We are going home," he repeated stubbornly. "And all will go back to how it was before."

Wren laughed. It was a joyous bitter laugh.

"It is most fascinating how you think you can command such things. Not even assume, or hope. You just say how it'll be." She shook her head.

"Wren..." His tone was pained now. "I don't understand what you're saying..."

Wren rose and walked up to one of the trunks. She looked inside and saw the lonely stocking, and the sword, and for some reason all her nightgowns piled in. Apparently, he just opened a drawer, grabbed all of them, and threw them in. All the folding that her maid had done was now put to waste.

"Wren… Please..." His voice was pleading, and she looked at him. He'd never pleaded before. She didn't think he could. He was sitting on the bench, and looking at her as if everything depended on her. And for the first time she felt it did.

Wren quickly came up to him, and climbed on his lap. He rushed to help her, and to wrap his arms around her. He was going to say something, but since she knew - and suspected he knew as well - that no merit would come out of his feeble attempts, she just pressed her nose into his neck.

"There are still people who want to see you. Thror is enjoying his stay. We will stay, for another two or three moons." She felt him nod. She wasn't done talking. "But we will leave if I ever decide to. Any day, any hour - I say we leave, and we leave," she said slowly and firmly, and he was squeezing her so hard it seemed some bone would crack in her.

"Aye," he answered into her hair.

"You will spend more time with me and Thror."

"Aye."

"You won't leave me alone with your sister, or anyone else for that matter, except Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Bofur, orLady Torunn."

"Aye."

"You will dance with me at the revels." There was a pause, and she moved away and looked at his face. The ring of his arms tightened around her. He danced little - mostly, because of the limp, as she suspected; and she wondered if he thought it below him; but the expression on his face seemed to indicate otherwise. There was something else bothering him.

"I will be the one you'll dance with," he answered. Wren gave him a confused look.

"That would be impolite."

"Damn the politeness," he answered snappily. Wren decided this confusing preoccupation of his would have to wait for now. She had other matters to attend.

She could feel his thigh under her buttocks, where his tunic had bunched up. And his smell filled her nose. And the day was already so unusual that perhaps another untimely transgression wasn't so despicable.

"And you will be happy, and everything will be as before?" he asked now, in a hopeful voice, and Wren was shaken out of her lustful thoughts.

She met his eyes.

"I will be happy if you make me happy," she answered, and he drew his brows together. She sighed. Perhaps, her speaking of smithery would be more successful. "Thorin, I want to go home, but we had agreed then that this visit needs to happen. It is important for you and Thror. I am here because of that. But you need to make an effort. To make it bearable for me." His face lit up.

"I need to remunerate you."

Wren snorted.

"That you understand, impossible Dwarf." He gave her a tentative smile. "Aye, you need to remunerate me. But I don't need your gold, or any other gifts." She splayed her hand on his chest, on the scorching skin, and the coarse hair. "I need your time. And your attention."

"I can give you attentions." His lips twitched, and the crinkles ran in the corners of his eyes.

"Good," she answered, and he chuckled. "You can start immediately," she added in an haughty tone.

That gained her a booming laugh, and he rose, deftly picking her up under her buttocks. He made a few steps towards the bedroom, but his member - already erect and stiff - brushed at her folds, and he turned and strode towards the nearest wall, and smashed her back into it. She gasped, and he slid his forearms under knees, opened her wide, and thrust inside. She cried out, he reached in almost too deeply; and he snarled, and thrust again.

He didn't last in this pose long, and dropped on his knees. She whined, when the tip pressed at the very core of her. He kept her legs hiked up, her knees spread. He settled her on his lap, and his hips were snapping into her, and the last thing she noticed before the pleasure took her, that there was purposefulness to his movements. He was... remunerating her, and she laughed, but then forgot about it right away, and her body arched, and then slumped in his arms. The world stepped away, and she moaned, and closed her eyes.

He turned and slowly put her on the floor, and was kissing her neck. And she knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself for long, and she was right, and she didn't mind. He loomed over her, supporting himself on his elbows, and he started moving, hungry and demanding, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, and delighted in the massive heavy body, and the hot skin under her palms, and the love and desire she felt for him and from him. And he growled, and she felt his seed rush into her.

And then his head fell on the floor with a thud, and she giggled.

"Balin is waiting for me in the library..." he mumbled, and Wren patted his shoulder mollifyingly.

"You were supposed to speak of love, and praise me right now."

He lifted his head and gawked at her.

"Was I?" He looked muddled, and trying hard to gather his wits. Wren snorted.

"Go to your meeting, my lord." He quickly leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "I will nap, and I want to have a meal with you afterwards."

"I can do that," he nodded.

Wren laughed, and he carefully rolled off her. He rose and looked down at her. He opened his mouth, but then changed his mind, and walked into the bath chamber quickly. Wren had to grab the bed leg to climb onto her feet, and then she slid under the covers and closed her eyes. The last thing she noticed was a bead from his side plait her hand bumped into under her pillow.

* * *

 _ **To be continued...**_


	19. Wild

It'd been a week since the ridiculous kerfuffle with Thorin, but Fili still found himself coming up with some retorts and snide remarks in his mind. He remained decorous and cordial with Thorin through this time, but he was feeling dissatisfied with how that night had ended. As much as his behaviour could have been blamed on the mead he had consumed, Fili still had a lot to tell to Thorin. Speaking his mind then had felt liberating; not having said much left him yearning for more.

He had also noticed the change in Wren's attitude towards him. She now was as much as avoiding him. He could guess it was because of his inconsiderate words. As small and seemingly unimportant as his disdainful outburst was, he had felt that it had been a betrayal of trust between them. They understood each other. Since the day she'd arrived to Erebor he felt some odd closeness in her; possibly, as little as a similar temper; perhaps, as much as a kindred spirit. And now she had closed herself from him. Her eyes didn't meet his at festivities.

And another week after, Fili realized how much Thorin's behaviour had changed as well. Thorin was seen in the halls much less; and he was now missing revels at night. And then Wren stopped coming at all; and there were two days when she didn't come out of their chambers at all.

During the day, Thorin wasn't present at training; he wouldn't spend as much time with Balin in the library; he reduced the hours he spent in the visitors halls accepting Dwarves who would still flock to Erebor to see Thorin Oakenshield.

And then Fili walked through a narrow passage, and he heard Thorin's voice, rumbling, low chuckles mixed into it. A female voice answered him, and Thorin emitted a guffaw. Fili turned the corner, expecting to see Wren - and froze at the view of Torunn pressing her back to the wall. Thorin stood near her - so very close! - leaning on his cane. They both were laughing, and then Torunn threw Thorin a look from under her lashes and licked her lips.

Thorin turned his head and gave Fili - frozen mid step - a look over, his eyes shining, as it seemed to Fili, with mockery.

He then lifted his hand and cordially patted Torunn's shoulder.

"I shall see you later, my lady?"

Fili asked himself whether he was imagining some sort of unusual velvet cadence to Thorin's voice.

"Most definitely, my lord," Torunn answered, in a purr like voice, gave Fili a short nod, smiled to Thorin, and walked away quickly.

Thorin still stood in the same place, his eyes distant, a lopsided smirk on his lips.

"Uncle, I was wondering whether Lady Wren had been unwell," Fili asked unnecessarily loudly, and Thorin snapped out of his pensiveness and met Fili's eyes.

"She is… just tired. She's taking rest," Thorin asked nonchalantly, as if the matter was of no importance, and then he picked up his cane, and started walking away from Fili, humming some sort of a merry tune.

* * *

Two days after seeing Thorin and Torunn in the passage, Fili was in his study, when a knock came to his door.

He allowed the visitor in, and saw his mother come in. Fili rose from his chair.

"Sit, son." Lady Dis gave a small wave of her hand and took a chair in front of him. "I will not wash the empty ore. I came to speak to you about Lady Torunn. I think she would be a great wife to you, and I say you look into it with much attention."

Dis' blue eyes pinned him, and Fili clenched a fist on the table, feeling rage rise in him. It was sudden and sharp, like acid spilling on his insides.

"I will take your words into consideration, mother. Anything else?" His tone was defiant. He decided he'd keep his mouth shut if Lady Dis rose and left now, accepting that he didn't want to discuss it. Apparently, it was either unclear to her, or she decided to continue nonetheless.

"Fili, you're of course the King, and all decisions..."

"Many seem to forget it," Fili interrupted. He sounded like a spoilt child who speaks of those present as if they weren't in the room. And he revelled in it. "And if memory serves me right, amad, all those years ago you gave up the right to determine my everyday proceedings by leaving with Kili. And taking my betrothed with you. And marrying Kili out to her." The mentioning of Ingva made him only more livid. And the image of Torunn smiling to Thorin resurfaced in his mind. And that was the last drop. "And hadn't you initially encouraged my childish infatuation with Ingva? Have you looked more closely this time? Perhaps, Lady Torunn will change her mind mid association with me as well?" The more he spoke, the angrier he felt - and freer. "And have you kept your brother in check as well, amad? Him and his surely disproportional attention to Lady Torunn!"

Dis sat pale and tight lipped in front of him, and he kept their eyes locked, challenging her.

"I have seen them together..." she answered quietly, and Fili responded with a triumphant livid "Ha!" His rage was white and cold.

"Am I to sacrifice myself again then, amad? First time by not marrying, the second time by doing so?"

"You're twisting the truth, Fili..." Dis attempted to sound haughty.

"Am I now? Wonderful. The way I see it, amad, my marriage, if any to take place, seems to be a matter of one exercising their power. Thorin thought he knew better and was looking for a bride for me. He seemed to have looked too hard, though," Fili continued his loud venomous leering. "And now you decided it was time to express your motherly concern..."

"You're forgetting yourself!" Lady Dis hissed, and jumped to her feet. Fili deftly followed.

"I'm the King Under the Mountain! Any - and I repeat, any! - decision I make will come from me! Who comes to my Kingdom! Who stays! And at the moment, who leaves my study and never speaks to me in this manner again!"

His hands were shaking, and something painfully clenched behind his ribs - and yet, he didn't regret a single word.

Lady Dis slowly turned around and made a few steps to the door. With her hand already raised to push the door open, she stopped in her tracks and turned her head to him.

"There are rumours, Fili. About you and that red haired lassie of Thorin's. I would prefer not to see another heir of Durin to be involved with an undeserving woman."

That was when Fili burst into disdainful laughter.

"How fortunate it is that I have all those people who sincerely care for me to point it out to me, amad! I feel so cherished!" And before Dis opened her mouth again, he pointed at the door. "Thank you for your visit, mother."

Even her usual composure didn't stop Lady Dis from loudly slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Fili decided that a long hunting trip would be his best opportunity to get away from the emotional drama that had been exhausting all his energy. He took a few of his closest friends; and without seeing any of the participants of the recent farce he left for a fortnight.

Being away from the Mountain was pleasant. Returning into it - not so much. They rode into the Great Gate in the middle of the night, having been delayed by the poor state of the roads. He walked into his chambers, already going through the list of matters to address the next day in his mind - and in the passage leading to the Royal Halls he ran into Wren.

She stood in the middle of the corridor, seemingly having stopped mid walk, a book open in her hands, her eyes running the lines.

His breathing hitched, and he stared at the curve of the long pale neck, the small curls on the nape, and the delicate ear. She wore a simple home dress, and seemed endlessly thinned.

"Evening..." he breathed out, and her eyes flew up to his face.

"Oh..." The red lips formed a circle. "You're back."

"I am back..." Fili mutters in response.

"You are back..." She suddenly smiled, widely, all her face lit up and her eyes shiny.

She looked ill. Her skin had a strange greenish tinge to it, and there were deep purple shadows under the sunken eyes.

And all of a sudden, guilt flooded Fili. He'd left her alone, to face all the turmoil! He'd left her alone to deal with Thorin, and Torunn, and the rumours, and his kin. He'd abandoned her, and now he was looking at the ghost of the woman who'd entered his mountain. Her eyes had some strange feverish light to them, and the expression in them seemed to bear even more age than before.

She looked at the bandages around his right forearm.

"Are you injured?"

"It is nothing. I'll see a healer tomorrow." He'd taken a wild boar on his own, and, just as one would expect, it hadn't been a wise decision.

Wren nodded, and gave him another smile. This one was coloured with melancholy.

"I shall see you tomorrow then. At dinner, perhaps." Her tone was uncertain. Was she still not coming out of the rooms?

"Wren..." He was going to ask after her health, but she had already started walking away.

Fili returned to his room, fell on the bed, and plopped a pillow over his head. Perhaps, he should have let the boar inflict more damage. That would have given him more time away from the Royal Halls.


	20. Kili

Kili walked into the training yard. There were fewer Dwarves than usual there; the revel the night before had been exceptionally exuberant. Most still were recovering in their bed. Fili was absent, although they had agreed to spar. Kili mockingly thought that Fili was getting slow - or perhaps, vain. Perhaps, he didn't want his subjects to see him in less than perfect shape. His majesty had returned from his hunting trip with an injured arm, and was still healing as well. Kili was in actuality looking forward to sparring with Fili in his impaired state. Kili had been growing tired of always losing against Fili's two swords.

Dwalin was cleaning up in the corner, clearly having finished his training. A sweat drenched tunic was clinging to his body, and a towel was thrown around his shoulders. His wife - Lady Mar - was leaning at the wall near him, her hand pressed at her lower back, her bulbous stomach thrust forward. Unlike Ingva who seemed to have been always tired and grouchy in her expectant state, Lady Mar retained her merry spirits. She was presently laughing, and then playfully splashed some water from a basin at her husband's chest.

By the opposite wall, Kili saw Thorin's redhead and Lady Torunn. The two of them were sitting on a bench, their heads nodded close together, some whispering and small laughs bouncing between them. From time to time, either of them would throw a glance at the Dwarf who was warming up in the center of the yard.

Thorin was slowly spinning a training sword in his hands, shimmying his shoulders.

Kili watched the old Dwarf move. The limp, even more pronounced than when Thorin walked; a slight awkwardness of the right arm; stiffness of the back - Thorin was not the same renown warrior of the past.

Kili himself had been fortunate. Most of his injuries had been inflicted on his left side. And besides, he was, after all, much younger and stronger than Thorin. He'd healed, he'd recovered. Thorin obviously had not.

"Thorin," Kili called to his Uncle. Their eyes met, and Kili gave Thorin a wide grin. "Care for a bout of sparring?"

Thorin gave Kili a familiar long, calm look; and then a small nod followed. Kili threw a discreet glance at the two women on the bench. A lewd thought flashed through his mind. He would have recoiled from it, from the image of copper and black locks mixed and scattered on pillows, and Thorin enjoying the undeserved double luxury; but then Kili allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy. After all, Thorin's lassie - as Kili's mother called her - was no Dwarf. There was no disgrace in thinking less of her.

He noticed then that they stopped their lively conversation, and two pairs of eyes were on Thorin now.

Kili shook off the doublet, picked up the closest wooden sword, and twirled it in his hand. He was no idiot, of course. Thorin was still dangerous, and Kili reminded himself to watch out for his own limitations. His left leg had a nasty habit of giving in at a very wrong moment. Kili had specifically trained to compensate for it, but he was not going to forget about it now.

They started circling each other, and Kili watched his Uncle. Just as he'd expected, Thorin moved slowly. There was none of the old wide swings either. Thorin stayed closed, more about defence than about any of his previous flamboyant attacks. Kili held back as well, wondering if it was a trap.

After a few minutes of decorous exchanging of blows, and cautious blocks, Kili started pressing harder. He added strength and speed to his hits. And then, although he firstly thought it below him, he decided to enhance his footwork. Thorin wouldn't be able to keep up. Kili had a cowardly thought to keep it hidden, to make sure that it wasn't as obvious to others that it would be exactly his agility that would guarantee him his victory - but then he thought against it. There was no need to humiliate Thorin even more.

And then Thorin lunged ahead, so fast that Kili missed not only the beginning of the move, but all of it! And the wooden sword fell painfully on Kili's shoulder - his knees buckled, and he swayed. And then the blade slid across his chest, with monstrous force, pushing him backwards, making him stumble back like a toddler learning to walk. Had it been a proper blade, he'd be cut in half, like a dead pig on a butcher's hook. And then the tip of the wooden sword caught him under his knee - the healthy one, and yet he could do nothing to resist it! And the ground was as if jerked from under his feet. He landed on his back, his spine unprepared and rigid, and the ache echoed through it, eventually rattling somewhere in the back of his head.

He hissed, and then gulped air with open air. He realised that his eyes were closed, and he forced himself to open them. Thorin stood over him. Kili expected a smug smile, but Thorin's face was unreadable. And then Uncle stretched his hand to Kili.

"You have much improved," Thorin said. And the humiliation that flooded Kili was so acute that he almost felt his eyes prickle. "I'm glad to see you have recovered from the battle, as well."

Kili wanted to rise with dignity, perhaps to say something nonchalant, to show the camaraderie, how the two of them were equals, understanding each other, even maybe reminiscing about the Battle - but instead he rolled to his stomach, then rose quickly, and with a crooked smile that couldn't possibly deceive anyone he muttered a thank-you, and walked off the training grounds.

* * *

After saying a quick cordial goodbye to Torunn, Wren followed her husband to their chambers. Thorin was pulling off his tunic, by the bed, his brows predictably drawn in a stormy expression. When she entered, he turned his back to her, as if unintentionally. Wren hid a small smile brought by how transparent his behaviour seemed to her.

"That was a tad cruel," she spoke into his back, and saw his shoulders tense.

"He was coming to wipe the grounds with me," Thorin grumbled, and threw the shirt aside in an irked gesture.

"And yet, that was cruel," Wren repeated softly, and he turned sharply. He opened his mouth to retort, but then the line of his lips softened.

"He needed to be taught a lesson," he answered, in a voice much quieter than the roar one would expect to erupt out of him. He heavily sat on the bed and jerked his neck in an irritated gesture.

"He is a child, Thorin. A child who is hurting." Wren made a small step towards him. He threw her a grouchy look from under his brows.

"He is older than you! Even in Dwarven years, he has a decade over you!" Thorin scoffed.

"He is a child whose father left him. And then a man, whom he loved and admired no less, abandoned him as well." Wren stopped in front of Thorin, and cupped his jaw, making him look up at her. "And then you came back, with a new family - and how do you think he feels?"

"I do not know how he feels," he answered after a pause, and then gave her a small smile. She tenderly stroked the small wrinkles that ran in corner of his eye. "I am an insensitive brute." His arm deftly wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her on his lap. Wren couldn't say she resisted.

"Thorin..." she drew out, and he turned and pressed his nose to hers.

"I don't know how he feels, but I know how a man is to act." His tone was firm. "A man is to show dignity, respect, and honour, no matter what sort of childish self-indulgence and offence to the whole world he's harbouring. Even if he feels like a spoon-fed, entitled brat."

"You know what I have always loved about you, Thorin?" Wren sing-songed. "It's your flexibility. And compassion." He chuckled, and rubbed the nose gently against hers.

"Then I'm only grateful that you didn't look close enough," he answered, and she moved slightly away and gave him a pointed look. He sighed and remarked, "He wouldn't show you the same kindness, you know. Mahal be witness, he isn't being kind to you in his thoughts. I saw how he's looking at you."

She could tell him that he paid too much attention to how other Dwarves looked at her, noticing only if there were any reasons for his unfounded male jealousy, while failing to notice how much disdain there was in everyone's attitude towards her. But it didn't matter. She made her peace with being the undeserving wife for him. And presently she enjoyed being a loved and cherished wife too much to let anything tarnish it.

Wren shrugged. "His feelings are more than understandable. Thror and I are the ones you chose over them, in their mind that is. And think of the following as well. Is he a happy husband and a father?"

Thorin gave her a confused look. "I would expect so..." He apparently read Wren's opinion in her face, and added in a doubtful tone, "But I am of course missing the obvious."

"Of course," Wren said. She settled in his arms, in a warm circle, and wrapped her arms around his strong neck. "Let's cease this conversation. I couldn't possibly teach you to see into people's heart in one day. And to be honest, all I want right now..." She leaned in and brushed her lips to his cheekbone. Her left hand slid off his shoulder, onto the coarse thick chest hair. It was almost all grey, and Wren threaded her fingers in it. She felt the chest rise in a sharp breath. He apparently had caught her mood. "All I want is to show you how shamefully enthralled and titillated I was by your flagrant demonstration of your virility," she whispered, and the lips under the pearly white whiskers twitched.

His eyes were dark, the blue of the irises was deep and full of hunger. Wren shifted, moved one leg around him, and a scorching palm lay on her knee. He pushed the hand up, under the skirts, and she felt him hook two fingers on the top of her stocking.

"We shall speak of how you should be softer and more understanding with you kin… but after," Wren stated, and he smirked to her lopsidedly.

"As my lady wishes," was his answer, and Wren nodded and dove in and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

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	21. Torunn

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 **To win the right to choose her husband, Aphrodite has to endure ten days in the company of Hephaestus, the fallen god of smithery. Except, everything about Heph freaks her out: he wears dirty clothes; he limps; his sacred animal is an ass. Meanwhile, he thinks she's a slag, and nothing but the means to an end.**

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* * *

Torunn was raising her voice, tapping her foot in irritation, and Fili threw her an amused look.

"You cannot limit me this way! You have allowed me these changes..." She pointed her index finger at the schematics on the table between them. "And now you're negating them!"

"Lady Torunn, I have been quite clear from the start that if the shipments from the Iron Hills do not arrive..." She made a scoffing noise, and Fili suppressed a smile. Not many allowed themselves such insubordination. And she was indeed lovely in her indignation: he appreciated her will, her determination, and her impudence - since it was caused by her stubborn pursuit of what she thought was best for Erebor. "We have discussed it. Would you like me to remind you?"

"No, thank you, my lord. I do not experience early onsets of scattered memory. But if you could only allow me to pull the funds from some other renovations..."

"And have me break my word to other engineers and architects? You will endanger my authority."

She pouted and plopped in the chair across from him.

"And besides," Fili continued in a nonchalant tone, "You do realise what they will think if I favour your works over other's?"

She sat with her arms crossed on her chest, and lifted her eyes at him.

"That you were wise enough to see my veracity?" she answered grumpily, and he laughed.

"Or that I am under your thumb," he drew out, and she gave him a skeptical look.

"You have always been, are, and always will be under no one's thumb, my lord," she quipped back, and rose. Fili followed, smiling widely to her. He loved that she said it; and he loved that she thought so; and perhaps, he liked to think so too. "Well, since you - as usual - decided everything yourself, we will conclude our meeting earlier. I have a matter to attend." She jumped out of the chair - he watched her her march to the doors. There was a spring and assurance to it. He then shifted his eyes, immediately ashamed of his very masculine gaze on her round hips and pert buttocks. "I have an errand to run for Lord Thorin..."

Fili's breathing hitched, and he felt his jaws clench unconsciously. She was opening the door, and he shouldn't have said it now, since someone could be in the passage, but the words spilled, venomous, in a raspy voice, "There are rumours of the two of you, you know."

She quickly looked back at him, her eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then she pursed her lips.

"Well, there are rumours about me and every male Dwarf who comes within a cloth-yard from me." She gave him a stern look over. "But I was not aware that even the mightiest in the Kingdom are prone to calumny."

The door banged behind her quite loudly. Fili cringed, and exhaled sharply.

* * *

At dinner, which was for once a small occasion, with only Balin, Dwalin, and Bofur present besides Fili's closest relations, Fili watched Wren move food on her plate. Over half an hour and five courses he hadn't noticed a single piece to travel from her fork into her mouth - and then she excused herself.

"Is your wife ill, Thorin?" Dis asked a second after the door closed behind the woman.

"Pardon?" Thorin finally diverted his attention from Bofur, who had once again pulled him into a lively discussion of the wine shipments from Ered Luin. Thorin then looked at the empty seat near him. Fili gritted his teeth. "She has been feeling unwell, aye. I'm sure it is nothing to worry about," Thorin answered in an offhand tone, and returned to his conversation.

"Have you asked whether she needs anything, Uncle?" Fili's voice was unpleasant.

Thorin stopped mid sentence, and there was an instant when he was silent and immobile, and then he slowly turned and looked at Fili.

"I am well aware of my wife's needs, Fili. She is cared for." The tone was dark. Did Fili rightly guess a menacing note in it?

Their eyes locked, the two men sat wordlessly, and then Bofur cleared his throat and asked something loudly. Fili was the first one to shift his gaze.

* * *

Torunn knocked at the door of Lord Thorin's chamber, and it opened, presenting her with the view of Lady Wren.

"Oh evening, Torunn." There was a relief in the voice of the redhead, and the Dwarven maiden stepped into the chamber, following an inviting gesture from the inhabitant.

"I brought your the herbs from my sister," Torunn said, throwing Lady Wren a studying look.

The redhead walked into the parlour and heavily sat down on a settee.

"Herbs?" Lady Wren's tone was absent-minded.

"She assumed you still cannot eat. These should help." Thorin pulled out seven sachets from her belt pouch, and Lady Wren gave them a doubtful look. "She said that as a healer from Men you would not know of these. Some fungi from the caves, and some moss, probably." Torunn shrugged.

"My child would be only half Dwarven, I am not certain it would be wise."

"You still don't eat, do you?" Torunn asked strictly. Lady Wren shook her head mournfully. She looked ill. Torunn disliked being around the sick, and the weak; but she also hated being unable to help.

"Maybe it's just the question of what you eat. Aren't there some cravings involved in this frustrating matter?" she asked, failing to hide the sarcasm in her tone, and Lady Wren's lips twitched in a small smile.

"There are some indeed. But I didn't want someone to start asking questions..."

"Well, that's just ridiculous. You're the wife of the former King Under the Mountain. If you suddenly crave a baked ram's head, you should be able to demand it at once."

Lady Wren's face suddenly gained a green tinge.

"Oh, Maiar, the thought alone..." She pressed a hand over her mouth, and shook her head.

"Well, alright!" Torunn rushed to speak, terrified of potential vomiting. "What is it that you want? Something very much un-Dwarven, I assume?"

"Nettle soup," Lady Wren asked quietly.

"Nettle soup?" Torunn wasn't sure she heard right. "It's grass of sorts, isn't it? The stinging one?"

"When it's dried, and fried, it can then be turned into soup. One is to eat it with sour cream, and a boiled egg." There was shy wistfulness in the redhead's tone.

"Mahal help me," Torunn muttered, "I think I might vomit from the sheer sound of this recipe. But if it's what you want, you should be able to get it. Do they cook it in Dale?"

"It's an Enedwaith dish."

"Then I'll sent for it tomorrow. Oh wait, can it be any nettle? I'm sure someone can go and pick up some in the Erebor Valley." Torun marched to a small desk by the wall. She picked up a quill and a parchment, and pushed them into Lady Wren's hands. "Here, write down the recipe. I'll have my cook make it tomorrow. And then I will bring it in the evening. No one is going to snoop into my possessions." Lady Wren was watching her with widened eyes, and Torunn pressed her fists into her hips. "Well? You aren't writing."

"Lord Fili is right," Lady Wren muttered, shaking her head in amusement - but at least she was writing. "You're like a battle ram."

Torunn puffed some air and plopped on the opposite settee.

"Much good it's done. He cut down my funds again."

"Well, console yourself, that it is King Fili we're talking about. With my husband you would have had even less luck," Lady Wren drew out, still scribbling down the instructions for her concoction.

"Well, with Lord Thorin I at least wouldn't be distracted by how blue his eyes are, and how soft the waves of his hair are, and the smirk, and..." Torunn stopped herself, and scoffed irritated by her own mawkishness.

"Good to know," Lady Wren answered, and Torunn threw her a quick look. The redhead had quite an innocent look on her face, but Torunn remembered the words of king Fili.

She had been aware of the rumours, of course. Sizing up a situation, calculating possibilities, and planning for every outcome - such was her vocation. She had just hoped that Lady Wren wouldn't believe the worst - and that King Fili would. As much as she admired his mind, his perceptiveness, and his rationality - she still hoped male possessiveness would take root.

She had made sure that her behaviour with Lord Thorin was impeccable, of course. She admired the man, but nothing more. Preserving her budding friendship with Lady Wren was much more important to her than being in his good books - after all, she had nothing to discuss with him, and nothing to gain from interactions from him. Lady Wren - once her first shyness had passed - was an engaging conversationalist, had a fresh unusual perspective, and a perverse sense of humour, so similar to Torunn's. The man was a grump and, to be honest, quite boring; his wife wasn't at all.

Torunn also knew that a smallest rumour of a competition would be enough for a man to become agitated - if there had been already a seed of interest in his heart, that was.

"You should tell him the truth," Lady Wren suddenly said, and rose to dry the ink.

"Tell whom what?" Torunn asked, watching Lady Wren carefully sprinkle the pounce on the parchment.

"Lord Fili. You need to tell him that your heart is… unattached, at least when it comes to other Heirs of Durin."

"Why?" Torunn asked abruptly, and then cringed. She tended to be blunt when emotional. Most of the time she tended to rely on her acumen and wit. Being affected, and even more so, bathetic, was disturbing.

"Because if you don't, it'll seem to him that you lied. That you played along with the nonsensical gossip to beguile him. And the result will be quite the opposite from the one you desire." Lady Wren came up to her and handed her the parchment.

"Who said I desire any… result?" Torunn bit back in her unfortunate habit to argue for the sake of arguing. She knew it about herself, but couldn't help it sometimes.

"His blue eyes and the softness of his waves, perhaps," Lady Wren answered impishly, and Torun burst into laughter.

"Fair enough." They laughed together, and then Lady Wren sighed.

"Shall we start a lesson then?" she asked, and Torunn nodded.

They sat down near each other, and Torunn opened the book she'd brought with her.

"These are the Karthu 'Urd, the Erebor style ruins, that we learnt last time." Torunn pointed at the page. "Do you think we need to review them?"

 _ **To be continued...**_

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	22. A White Dove

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* * *

Kili turned the corner of a passage of the Royal Halls, and heard some muffled voices a few doors behind him. He twirled and peeked from around the corner. He had to strain his hearing to catch the words.

"I don't think there's anyone here..." the person said, and the door opened wider. Kili shifted, hiding, but making sure he could still see.

Lady Torunn carefully peered from behind the door, and then she quickly walked out. She was dressed in a simple home dress, perhaps even a robe, or nightdress of sorts. There was a cloak hastily thrown over, to hide the garment, and she was pushing her arm into the sleeve.

"I will see you tomorrow then?" she asked someone inside, but Kili couldn't hear the answer. Lady Torunn emitted a small laugh. "I'm quite enjoying this secrecy," she said playfully, and then she pulled the hood over; and the door closed behind her.

She walked away hastily, in her usual energetic manner. Kili watched her, his heart drumming at inside of his rib cage. He knew what rooms were behind that door.

So, the rumours were true; and his Uncle was indeed tempering his sword in two oils, as they called it.

* * *

Kili had two options really. He could forget it happened; and he suspected that was what Fili would do. He chuckled at the thought. Considering how their mother was pushing the idea of Torunn being such a perfect bride for Fili - and that was despite the gossip - and how often Fili had mentioned the maiden - before Thorin showed up, that was - it was rather entertaining to think that Fili would still choose the high road.

Another option was to let Thorin know at some point that Kili knew. Kili wouldn't of course make a fuss about it. After all, such things were never dragged out and presented to the public attention. But the thought of the satisfaction of rubbing Thorin's nose in the dirt was so tempting!

And then something pushed Kili to walk around the corner and march to the door. Maybe, it was the humiliation of their sparring match. Maybe, it was the thought that later, knowing Thorin's unwavering confidence, Kili wouldn't catch him off guard, and if Kili hinted to him that he'd born witness to Thorin's transgression, all Kili would get was Thorin's habitual stone face.

And so, he as much as ran up to the door, and knocked. He could just imagine Thorin, dishevelled, in a half open shirt, his eyes shifting in guilt and panic...

There was some noise inside, something clanked loudly, as if some dishes had been dropped, and the door was jerked open.

Lady Wren stood on the threshold, for some reason holding a spoon in her hand, and some strange smell trickled into Kili's nose. It was grassy, but was definitely coming from a food of sorts.

"Oh..." The redhead's lips rounded in surprise. "I thought it was..." She caught herself, and stopped. "Were you looking for Thorin?" she asked, since he was standing frozen, without saying anything.

"Aye, I was. Pardon me," Kili muttered, and she suddenly gave him a calm warm smile.

"He is visiting Master Dwalin's new home tonight. I'll tell him you stopped by." Kili opened his mouth to quickly say his goodbyes, when Thorin's boy suddenly stuck his head from behind his mother's skirts.

"Evening," he greeted Kili politely, and then turned to his mother. "Your green soup smells odd, amad."

The redhead pressed her lips, clearly stifling a laugh.

"I know, my heart. I will tend to it in a minute."

"Tell Thorin I shall see him at breakfast," Kili mumbled, and took a step back from the door.

The woman answered politely, and the boy gave him a mannered goodbye. Kili twirled on his heels and rushed down the corridor.

* * *

He was halfway down the passage, when he met none other than Thorin himself. Kili breathed out a swearing. He'd just been berating himself for his stupidity, and now such was his luck! Worse so, he suddenly found himself mute, and staring at the older Dwarf.

"Evening, Kili," Thorin drew out, and looked him over.

"Uncle." His voice cracked disobediently.

"If you're looking for Lady Torunn, she's just passed me in the Eastern corridor," Thorin pronounced slowly, his eyes twinkling.

Kili hated this tone of Thorin's. It was the tone in which they had been asked as children whether they had visited the pantry with sweets when their faces had been dirty with jams and crumbs. That was the tone that clearly signified that Thorin knew there was a fault on Kili. Kili internally swore again. How come he would repeatedly forget these days how cunning and perceptive Thorin was? He was not a sensitive man, but his acumen was something to beware of.

"I was just..." Kili's mind thrashed in panicked attempts to find some good explanation to his wandering about. Thorin stood, silent, his face schooled in a polite interest, only one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Have a good evening, Kili," Thorin said finally, and walked around him, heavily leaning on his cane.

* * *

When he entered his chamber, Thorin chuckled low in his throat. Judging by the strange aroma in the parlour, Lady Torunn had been true to her word.

Thorin pulled off his doublet, and walked into the bedchamber. Wren slept on the bed, curled into a ball - unlike every other night when he would find her vomiting in the bath chamber, or sitting there on the floor, pale, and weak.

Thorin was in quite a mood, to be honest. He had had lots of mead with Dwalin, reminiscing about old times. Both had talked about their current lives, as much as their characters allowed of course; but the subdued boasting about their wives and sons - Thorin's living and Dwalin's future ones - had put Thorin in a relaxed and merry mood. He looked his wife over, and then chuckled at his own wistful ogling.

Mood or not, of course he wouldn't wake her up. The poor kitten was finally resting. He carefully pulled off his boots, making sure they didn't thud on the floor; jerked off his trousers and the tunic; and slid under the covers, trying not to yank the sheets and the quilts.

Wren made a small quiet noise, and moved closer to him in her sleep, pressing into his side, as usual, her head on his upper arm, one leg around his. He wrapped his other arm around her, making sure not to touch her side on the ribs, where she was ticklish. The sweet smell of her usual soap filled his nose; and he closed his eyes.

And then the small fingers of her hand, splayed on his chest, twitched, and moved, and danced down his torso. Thorin pressed his lips, muffling a chortle; and then the short nails clawed at his stomach, and he couldn't hold back the laugh anymore.

"Weren't you sleeping, _hulwulkasab?_ " he drew out, and the hand slid under the waist of his breeches.

"I am," the cheek murmured. "But I'm finally fed and not feeling sick. I'm not going to waste the chance."

She threaded the fingers in the hair at the base of his member, and he felt her rub his cock between the index and middle finger. She had long strong fingers, and for some reason this trick had always worked wonders on his arousal. Tonight, on the other hand, he'd get excited from anything - they hadn't laid together for almost a fortnight.

He started rising, planning to roll over her, but she pressed her hand into his crotch, stopping him.

"Let's not jolt me, alright?" she said, and he snorted. The nails sank into his skin, as if penalizing him for laughing. Both knew that wouldn't be a punishment for him. He quite fancied how scratchy his kitten was.

"Lie still, my lord," she ordered, and he demonstratively splayed his arms on the bed like the wings of a bird. She moved in the dark, he could see the outline of her body in the moonlight, streaming through the window - and then the white of her nightgown flailed and flew through the room.

She sank on him, and started moving immediately, the rhythm of her hips forceful and demanding. The daze and the usual raw sensation came faster this time; he had been hungered; and instead of savouring, he was bucking his hips on the sheets, and his hands grabbed her waist, and with each of her jumps, he would jerk her down. She was only spurring him, with her arched back, and the loud lustful moans; and then she pushed her hands into the fiery curls, ruffling her mane, grabbing handfuls of the copper, which always drove him only wilder; because he was the only one who saw this Wren - feral, uncultivated.

His release was sharp, and he cried out, pulling her down onto him especially roughly; and she fell ahead, her hands on his shoulders, and whined. The world around filled with white blinding light, and his head as well - and then he realised she was still moving, and he hissed, because it was quite enough by now! And then her quim constricted around him, and she made a loud triumphant noise. And for some reason he started laughing - maybe from how greedy she was about her pleasure; and how much he relished how untamed she could be.

She was now splayed on his chest, her head had slid to the side, and her nose pressed into the sheets.

"Stop laughing at me..." she mumbled, and he guffawed and patted a round buttock.

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm just happy Torunn found you your soup," he answered, and she huffed, and shifted with a groan. He helped her off himself, and tucked her under his side.

"You're just happy that I can finally do this..." She gestured somewhere above his member, and he only laughed more at her undignified tone. "You're only concerned about your pleasure," she grumbled and yawned widely.

He stretched his arm and picked up the covers to pull over the two of them. She turned slightly and nuzzled his temple.

"I was worried, Wren," he said softly. "It is different from the last time." She stopped rubbing her nose to his cheekbone, and he turned and met her eyes. She smiled sleepily.

"Last time we were home. And I was not surrounded by… all this excitement."

"And by excitement do you happen to mean my kin?" he asked pointedly.

Recently he had been seeing more and more clearly why she felt uneasy in Erebor. In her place he of course wouldn't care, but she was evidently affected by the stares and the gossip. Previously, he'd have told her to brush it off. She was above them all, and should have just ignored it. But seeing the physical signs of how discomforted she was in Erebor worried him. If she told him they were leaving, he'd start packing. As proud and joyful as he felt, he even agreed on keeping the pretenses and not letting anyone know about her state, just to appease her. Him, Thror, and her maid were the only ones in the know; and Andvari's girl as well. She was teaching Wren runes, and they seemed to like each other. Thorin was glad. He intended the girl for Fili, and Wren was an excellent judge of character. If she befriended the girl, Thorin didn't need any more recommendations for a potential daughter-in-law.

"By the excitement I mean your kin being at different stages of apoplexy regarding your return from the dead; marriage to a woman of Men; and..." She couldn't hold back another yawn. "And your alleged going-on with Torunn."

"My what?" he asked in bewilderment, and she giggled. "Mahal, Wren, not you too!" He knew her well. She was clearly teasing him, and he puffed some air. "If you try to convince me you're jealous, I'll put you over my knee."

"Not tonight, please. I'm quite exhausted," she purred in response. "Tomorrow perhaps."

He emitted a half surprised, half exasperated huff. She did have most unexpected bouts of naughtiness - not that he found them in any way bothersome. And the thought of her pert buttocks, up in the air, her soft warm stomach on his knee... Thorin stuffed the thought at the back of his mind, since some things still needed to be clarified perhaps.

"Wren..."

She snorted. "You aren't going to explain yourself, are you?" she asked impishly.

"I have nothing to explain!" he snapped immediately, not unaware of how defensive he sounded.

"Of course you don't," she said mollifyingly, and patted his shoulder. The trouble was that with her he couldn't be sure whether she was just pacifying him, or he indeed hadn't committed some inconsiderate blunder again.

"I saw Kili lurking in the passage tonight. I think he saw Torunn," Thorin said, hoping to steer her to the subject that worried him.

"He came," she answered, her voice growing quieter. "Pretended to look for you..."

"Aye, and when I ran into him in the passage, he looked so guilty, as if it were him dawdling with her." Thorin felt momentarily irked, especially since he now remembered Dis' clumsy attempts to breach the same subject with him.

And then he realised Wren was asleep. He immediately wanted to wake her up - he felt they hadn't discussed it, and he hadn't reassured her enough - but then he remembered that it was one of the first nights she saw some peace. He sighed and noted to himself to have a talk with her in the morning. Of course, she didn't believe it, he told himself, all the ridiculous falsehood, but he needed to make sure that nothing worried her.

"Sleep, Thorin..." he suddenly heard her mumble. "You're thinking too loudly. I know you are an innocent white dove..."

He turned to tell her that was the most ridiculous comparison she could come up with - but he saw the long lashes, the delicate turn up nose, the freckles scattered across the bridge, and the soft line of warm red lips - and he quickly kissed her forehead and embraced her tighter. A white dove of all things! What an impudent, cheeky... delightful woman!

* * *

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 **Romance/erotica webserial _Jack in the Box_**

Armed with several degrees in psychology, sociology, and literary studies, as well as a particular set of skills and abilities, Gemma Wright works as a muse for artists in various creative fields. She can inspire a hit album; pull a popular novelist out of a writer's block; or organize an international tour for a dance company.

Gemma has strict rules and a precise plan for her personal life - and Jack Richards, a famous mystery writer, definitely doesn't fit her criteria. Perhaps, his direct competitor, John Barnett, with his soft manners and seemingly humble disposition, is a better match for Gemma than the dark and handsome Richards.

Understanding others and leading them to the fulfilling and rewarding life is Gemma's specialty, but does she know the answers to the same questions when it comes to her own life?

{Updated every Thursday!}

 **4\. A romance/erotica/drama webserial "Dr. T Series" on my blog kolmakov dot ca**

Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

{Updated every Saturday!}

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 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!

* * *

 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	23. An Invitation

**A/N:**

 **Hello *shy wave***

 **I know I've been away for a while. I've had a very difficult couple of weeks (emotionally, and as a consequence physically). I'm quite proud of myself, actually: I managed to take my depression and my ED under control much faster than usual this time. But damn, a mind of an oversensitive INFJ with high intellect is their own bane, isn't it? :)**

 **Anyroad, thank you for sticking by! I assume you did, since you're reading this, right? :)**

 **If you want to know about my writing plans, and where else you can read my stuff, please, peek into my blog: kolmakov dot ca. I put a short post there about what's what. Also, all my links are on the blog; and liking/following my writing Facebook page (if it works for you) is the best way to keep track of my updates outside FF.**

 **Hope my updates will make up for my absence!**

 **Katya**

* * *

Fili walked a passage, his eyes dropped to the parchment in his hands, when someone called out to him. He lifted his eyes, and saw Wren standing on the staircase landing one level above him.

She walked down. He noticed the stiffness of movements, and how even more thinned she looked. She carried herself like a person with an injury, or headache - as if careful not to jolt her body, or bump into a corner.

"Good evening, my lord," she greeted him, and scrutinized his face. He gave her a no less attentive look over. He had not seen her for more than a fortnight.

The first snow had fallen two days ago, Fili thought. Just as both of them seemed to have agreed unspokenly, Thorin had not left the Mountain before the Winter started, and now travelling North would be dangerous. Fili wondered how much it pained the woman in front of him.

"I wanted to thank you for the gift for Thror," she said, referring to the sword Fili had had made for the boy a moon ago. It was a fine blade, Fili supervised the works himself.

"Your son is exceptionally skillful for his age," Fili said with a nod.

"He's training with the best warriors of the Khazad these days," Wren laughed. "Just the other day he gave Lord Balin a black eye." She pressed her hands to her cheeks. She was still chuckling, but made a few shocked noises and her eyes were widened dramatically. Fili couldn't help but smile at her antics.

He seemed to have forgotten her face - she still wasn't attending dinners and revels. He'd forgotten how animated it was; the sharp angular features; the laughing wide mouth. The long thick lashes framed the unusual slanted eyes. Something clenched in Fili's chest.

"How are you feeling these days, Wren?" he asked suddenly.

"Much better, thank you," she answered with a strange impish grin. "My new diet and location for my meals quite agree with me." She lifted one eyebrow pointedly, and he barked a laugh.

"I could use both these days," he answered. He truly did. Kili was sulking; his mother sat through meals with pursed lips, without saying a word; Thorin seemed as unperturbed as ever. Sometimes Fili could almost grab a mug and hurl it into the wall just to snap them all out of the tension.

"You could join me for dinner tonight," she offered eagerly, but then she started making small nervous coughs. "I mean, I have guests tonight, in our chambers… Thorin is visiting Master Bofur and his kin." He watched the bright blush spill on her cheeks. "But of course, that was quite forward of me… And it's not guests… It's a guest. One guest. Lady Torunn."

"I'd be honoured," Fili answered quickly - before giving it a thorough thought; before he could come up with polite excuses not to.

She muttered something under her breath, and rocked on her heels.

"Well, then… We shall see you at dinner time, then? We as in Torunn, Thror... And I..." Her nose twitched nervously, and Fili couldn't help but give her an amused smile. "We have long agreed that Thror was to be brought up as a Dwarven child, dining with adults, and such."

"He has very good manners," Fili said, and saw her face relax. He had guessed what compliment would please her most, it seemed.

"Thank you. And, well… till later then." She twirled on her heels, and fled. Fili watched the small feet in soft leather slippers patter on the stone floor. She had exceptionally graceful ankles. Even being a Dwarf, he could appreciate the strong supple legs and the delicate curve of the hip.

* * *

"Is it wise?" Torunn hissed, and gave Wren a glare. The redhead didn't notice - or, more likely, didn't deem necessary to acknowledge - Torunn's remark, and continued braiding the boy's hair.

Torunn didn't particularly like children. She found them unpredictable, illogical, and their moods changed too quickly for her taste. Wren's son was one of the least irritating, though. He was lively and curious, which were the qualities Torunn appreciated in adults; he was well-behaved, but not apathetic; he was also well-educated; and Torunn even managed to have an engaging conversation with him about the forges of Erebor. He had read a book and had a few - quite reasonable - questions to her.

" _Ikh-kharh!"_ Torunn whined to Wren. 'Egg' was a nickname she gave to the redhead, teasing her for the bird name. "You should have warned me."

"I hadn't known myself he would join us," Wren answered in her usual calm tone. "It just sort of… came up in a conversation."

"I would have worn something better," Torunn continued her griping. "Something with more… bang!" Torunn gestured around her cleavage, and Wren laughed.

"Bang?" the boy asked his mother in a whisper, and Wren knelt in front of him fastening the clasps on his doublet. It was dark blue, with silver embroidery running on the velvet - just like on the formal wear of his father.

"She means something fancier, my heart," the woman answered. "Since we have a king coming for dinner tonight."

Torunn looked at Wren, who was still dressed in one of her simple home dresses. Torunn couldn't honestly understand why the wife of an heir of Durin would wear such dull clobber - dark greens, and buttoned up to her chin. The Dwarf didn't know whether Wren was alluring by the standards of Men; but it wasn't about attractiveness as much as about showing one's status and wealth. Lord Thorin and the boy did; and Torunn wanted the same for her friend - but of course she said nothing.

Wren got up and smoothed down the skirt of her linen dress. Torunn threw a look over herself in the mirror on the wall. Indeed, she could have worn something more enticing - and her hair, raven black and smooth, was in a simple braid tonight.

"I shouldn't worry, really," Torunn muttered. "He is a man. They don't notice things like that." But then she remembered which man it was all about. "Although he does. All the smallest details, can you believe it?!" She dramatically flailed her hands and plopped in an armchair by the fire.

Wren sent the boy to his chamber to wait for dinner, and sat down in front of Torunn. One of her strange, as if absent-minded smiles, was playing on her lips.

"He is exceptionally perceptive, isn't he?" Wren drew out, her gaze on the dancing flames.

"Or perhaps not," Torunn contradicted stubbornly. "Otherwise he would see how good we could be together. If he weren't a King, I would have approached him myself." Wren slowly turned and looked at her pensively.

"I couldn't know for certain, but it seems to me, he does know how good you would be for each other. And he is quite infatuated with you… at least he had been until everyone started meddling, and telling him he should look into it. And now he has quite forgotten it."

"That's just absurd!" Torunn scoffed in irritation. "Who does something like that?"

"A man who suddenly feels like he's treated as a boy. A king who feels his authority is being threatened by an older man. And a son whose mother has abandoned him before. And is it not true that Kili is married to Lord Fili's former betrothed?"

Torunn gave Wren's words a consideration. She never quite thought of it. Fili always seemed so confident to her - wonderful, clever, exciting, endlessly titillating; anything but how Wren had just described him. But again, one needed to have Wren's mind to look into these things and notice them.

"What does it matter what others say, or think? He's the King! He is… Fili!" Torunn waved her hand in the air, not quite capable of expressing what she felt. "He is cunning! He is endlessly brave! I've heard stories of his skill in negotiations. And I sparred with him. He's terrifying in the ring." Torunn herself could hear how wistful her voice sounded. "And we had so much fun! We hunted together, we trained, we argued! And I know it, Wren, I know he was that close to proposing courtship to me!" Torunn exhaled noisily through her nose. "Have you seen my family tapestry? I have enough lineage to be the Queen. And I know you can't tell in this dress, but I'm considered the most beautiful woman on this side of the Misty Mountains!" Torunn was of course joking, and Wren predictably snorted. To lighten the mood further, Torunn cupped her breasts and pushed them up. "These are the tits worthy of the Queen Under the Mountain, Wren!"

The redhead burst into loud laughter - and Torunn smirked, proud of herself. Wren laughed rarely; and a bit of ridiculous drollery was worth seeing Wren relaxed and unburdened for once. Torunn had no name for the strange tenderness and protectiveness she felt towards her strange friend.

"I know you're a beauty, my friend," Wren said, her voice ringing with laughter. "But it's not what the King is after, is he? He's one of those rare ones, who treasure the mind, and the will, and all those special little things about a woman. I bet he likes your forges no less than that delicious bow shaped mouth of yours."

Torunn threw the redhead a shocked look. What a puzzle the woman was: demure and childish at one moment; impish and flirtatious the next!

"And here I was thinking it was my eyes that enticed him!" Torunn sing-songed, having recovered from her astonishment. "They have been compared to black onyx geodes. And to the dark mines of Khazad-Dum."

Wren's next line - "I bet it's simply your backside" - was Torunn's undoing; and she rolled with laughter, pressing her hands to her stomach.

And then a decisive short knock came to the door.

Torunn choked on her frolics; while Wren rose and walked to the door, seemingly completely unruffled. Torunn jumped to her feet.

He looked most handsome tonight! A simple dark burgundy doublet made his golden mane glow in the candlelight; as if the white fire of the forges danced around his face. The shadows lay on the cheekbones; and the blue eyes shone. Torunn noticed a golden earcuff; and opulent beads in the soft waves of his hair. Everything about him was simply… perfect.

After greeting him, Wren went to the adjoin dining-room to let the servants know it was time to bring out the food.

Torunn jerked her chin up and met Fili's gaze directly.

"Evening, my lord." She once again lamented her choice of clothes for tonight. They hadn't spent much time together recently. And she was feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. And she hated it.

"Evening, my lady. It is pleasure to see you in less formal circumstances," he said with a warm smile, and Torunn it eagerly.

Fili looped his arm, and led her to the next room. His muscular shoulder brushed at hers; and she remembered their sparring matches, and his body moving swiftly and confidently under a thin tunic, and the strong, perfectly defined legs; and the pert backside.

Perhaps, Wren was right. Perhaps, he just needed reminding how much fun they'd had together.


	24. Three at Dinner

After the first two courses the boy was done with his meal, and politely excused himself.

"He's in anticipation to go back to his book. It's a volume on the battles of Dain I, most fascinating reading," Wren said with a small laugh, and ruffled the boy's curls. Fili saw the boy lean into the caress. Wren was much more openly affectionate with Thror than Dwarven mothers - and so was Thorin. Fili had seen Thorin pat his son's shoulder, and even wrap his arm around him - the warm gestures, which neither Fili, nor Kili had even received - or thought possible.

The boy bowed to both women, said decorous goodbyes in Khuzdul, and left.

The three of them now sat around a small square table, an empty spot between the women. Fili turned to the right and lifted a wine bottle above Wren's glass. She quickly covered it with her hand.

"None for me, thank you. I cannot have any brews. They muddle my mind, and make me ill."

"Aren't your kin wine traders?" Torunn asked with a small laugh, and Wren shook her finger at the Dwarven maiden.

Fili had not seen the two of them alone in infromal circumstances before - and he still couldn't believe the level of familiarity and almost... playfulness between them. As much as he pushed the thought away, the memories of Kili's lewd hints came to mind.

"My kin trade in furs, and you don't see me sprout any whiskers, Torunn."

Fili noticed Wren's cheekbones were flushed, and her slanted eyes burnt, of much brighter green colour now. She indeed hadn't drunk any wine; and he wondered what affected her so much.

Fili poured the wine into Torunn's goblet, and she picked it up. He discreetly watched her lips close over the rim. The brew had not affected her yet, but she seemed livelier and chattier than usual tonight even without it. He wondered if it were the presence of Wren in the room that was the reason. After the unfortunate conversation in his study, Torunn had seemed tense and quiet around him. He had been too preoccupied with the state matters and his other worries to address it before; but he was glad she seemed freer around him now. And after all, he had never truly suspected her of any transgressions - it was his jealousy talking. Jealousy and envy - towards Thorin, of course - had poisoned his mind, making him doubt others, and himself at the first place.

He leaned back in his chair and took a large gulp of his wine. Suddenly Wren snorted a small muffled laugh.

"What are you thinking there, you naughty _ikh-kharh_?" Torunn asked, and Fili choked on his drink. The two of them clearly had much more intimate relationships that he'd assumed initially.

"I'm just imaging how merry the meal is in the Dining Hall right now," Wren spoke quietly, with a side glance towards him, as if not certain if he'd join on the joke. Fili gave out a hearty laugh.

"It is Kili, Amad, and Balin there tonight." He smirked. "I do not envy the old man."

"Mahal be merciful, I bet the stew is covered in frost crust there," Torunn said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Her giant round eyes were widened; and she looked at him mortified. Fili's meal was growing more and more entertaining. "Pardon me, my lord. That was… inappropriate of me," Torunn spoke, and he saluted her with his glass.

"Feel free, my lady. Nothing you say would equal in inappropriateness what I am thinking." He gave her a wink, and both women giggled. "My brother's wife is supposed to arrive any day," he drew out in an offhanded tone. "That will surely only improve the situation."

"Lady Ingva?" Torunn asked, her face astonished.

"The one and only."

Fili watched Torunn throw Wren an uncertain look, as if asking for guidance from the redhead. At the same time, from the corner of his eye he caught Wren drink her water, her face unreadable.

"Thorin had never approved of her." Fili didn't know what pushed him to continue speaking of the past. Perhaps, he wanted to see how each of the woman would react. "He thought her fickle, and vain. He's not fond of either quality in women, I suppose."

"I don't think Thorin looks attentively enough to distinguish any qualities in women," Wren answered in an even tone, and her eyes met his.

It had always been a strange experience - to talk to her. He had always had a gift of seeing through people, to notice more - but somehow this slip of a girl from Men sometimes managed to lock herself from him. Most of the time, he felt pity and tenderness - given not only those - towards her, but at times like tonight she puzzled and fascinated him. He wasn't used to feeling there were hidden depths in a person, which his mind couldn't penetrate or place.

He turned and looked at Torunn. Her emotions, though carefully kept under control due to her upbringing, were nonetheless easy to guess. She was glad to share the dinner with him; she felt relaxed in Wren's presence; and she clearly thought Wren was her ally in charming him.

He could tell her she didn't need allies. He could let her know her body and her mind captivated him; and Thorin and his mother had been right - she was perfect for him.

But he could also tell him that he wasn't in this room for her sake.

"Perhaps, we should just have dinner here from now on, in the same company, with the additional of its other tenant, of course," Fili drew out.

Wren picked up a slice of cheese from the flatter, and pinched a small piece.

"Wouldn't your family judge you, my lord?" she asked in the same even polite tone. "And us for stealing you, for that matter."

"I'm the King, my lady. I am allowed to dine wherever and with whomever I wish to," he answered, keeping his eyes on her face. She was looking down at her hands, the long delicate fingers fidgeting with the food. "And I don't remember any Dwarven laws prescribing one to spend time with their kin if they didn't wish to."

"One can't choose their family, indeed," she agreed quietly. "But one can choose a companion to warm their heart." She lifted her eyes, and he studied her face.

Torunn shifted in her chair. And he suddenly knew Wren expected him to turn and look at the Dwarven maiden - to acknowledge that he understood the underlying meaning, that indeed it was Torunn his eyes would stray to, and that it was her his heart was destined to be warmed by.

And then the heart in question rebelled.

He lifted his glass and sipped the wine, without breaking the contact with the slanted eyes of the colour of fire opal.

It was madness, surely. He didn't know himself how much of it was a challenge to Thorin; the envy and the jealousy; or perhaps the desire to save her, to shield her from the pain and the hurt her life was surely full of. Some of it was the hunger and the desire - but not of the body, but born out of the astonishment he felt from finding someone so kindred. He felt greedy, to snatch more of her time, of her attention… and perhaps, of touch.

The dreams had been torturing him recently - the fantasies, with so little from his awake memories of her to borrow from. He remembered the touch of the hand; and her face close to him, in a dance, and in this very room, when she leaned in to tend to his broken face. The rest was just his mind supplying feverish images.

She dropped her eyes, and he saw a shudder run through the delicate shoulders and the long elegant neck.

"It is quite late," she whispered, and Torunn jumped to her feet.

"We should let you rest, Wren," she said hastily, and Fili rose as well.

All three of them moved, and the chair legs screeched on the floor. Torunn was quickly saying her goodbyes to him; Wren joined her in a subdued voice; Fili was quiet.

He then bowed to both of them and headed to the door. Torunn was intending to linger behind, but he opened the door for her, leaving her no choice. If anything, he quite hated to be talked about behind his back - and that was exactly what was to happen. She shifted, quickly hugged Wren, and walked by him. He nodded to Wren again, and stepped out of the door.

Torunn stopped, and turned to him. Her face was flushed, and he saw the lips of her beautiful mouth pressed in a stern line.

It was almost funny how easily he could see her feelings and her intentions. She took a deep breath, her alluring perky bosom rose; and she jerked her chin up.

Arguing was what Lady Torunn, daughter of Andvari loved most - and did best. She did it for all good reasons; and sometimes just for fun; she never shied from a conflict; and sometimes would contradict and quarrel just for the sake of an argument itself. But here, he could see that she was not planning to start one of her convoluted deliberations. A direct question was coming - and Fili wasn't ready to answer it.

"I've forgotten my doublet," he said, and she dropped the gaze of her dark tense eyes on his chest. Indeed, he'd hung it on the back of his chair mid-dinner. It was strangely hot in the chamber. "Excuse me, Lady Torunn." He gave her a small bow. "Shall I see you tomorrow at the forges?" he asked, and saw her give him a furious, cold stare. He was dismissing her - and she would not forget it.

"Have an excellent night, my lord." Her voice dropped, and she twirled on her heels and left.

Fili turned back to the door, and stood, his eyes closed, his hand he'd lifted to knock almost trembling.

The knock came out loud and decisive, and then he heard 'come in' from the inside. Somehow he knew she'd just let him in, without getting up to open the door herself. He pushed it, and stepped in, closing it tightly behind him.


	25. Don't Come Back

**Author's Note:**

 **Please, have a look at my Wattpad page. The name is Katya Kolmakov/kkolmakov, and I'm writing two modern webserials there (with protagonists inspired by some familiar characters from my fanfiction). One is a dark psychological drama; another - a cheery, British countryside, romance/humour/murder mystery. They both could use some attention and some comments ;) If you don't have a Wattpad, you can read the second one on my blog: kolmakov dot ca; where you can also find other links to my many media pages.**

 **Hope you have fun!**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

He walked in, his heart beating heavily behind his ribs.

"You've forgotten your doublet," she said from the table. She was stacking the dirty plates, and it threw him off. It was a job for a servant, and he knew she had a maid. There were Erebor servants as well. And yet there she was, moving around the table purposefully.

"Wren, are you… quite alright?" he asked an empty decorous question that hopefully said to her what he hoped it would.

"Aye, thank you. I'm much less ill these days," she answered without lifting her eyes off the cutlery she was picking up.

He came up to her in a swift impulsive gesture. There was so little room between them now; he saw the soft small curls on the neck, and blush spilling on the ears, and down the long neck.

"Wren..."

He didn't know what he wanted to say. He didn't know what he wanted to do - if he only could fathom what it is that he wanted at all! It's not like he desired her in any capacity; but he just craved… something. A change. A step. But of course, even he himself didn't know what direction this step was to be taken to.

Her hands froze, but she didn't lift her eyes.

He once again asked himself what it was he wanted to ask, to say, and to hear in response.

"Wren..."

She sighed and finally looked at him. Just as through the dinner, her eyes shone in odd brilliance.

"You shouldn't be angry with him..." she said. "When I see you, I always feel you want to berate me, to tell me of all he's doing wrong, because you couldn't say it to him… But he truly is here to see his kin. He didn't come to take your life over…"

"There isn't anything to take," Fili blurted out. Perhaps, that was what it was all about - taking the other's life over. Him taking Thorin's.

But then he retreated from the thought - of course, not! She was not a trophy, not a possession he wanted to reclaim from Thorin to punish him. She was Wren.

"You're wrong," she whispered softly back, and his eyes greedily roamed his face. "You're young. You're a loved and respected King. You have Torunn..."

Fili's lips twitched in irritation. He didn't want to talk about another woman.

"And you?" he asked. He sounded hungry.

"What about me?" she asked, with a confused, almost lost look now on her face.

"What about your life? He upturned it; he dragged you here; he's never around!" Fili raised his voice.

And suddenly she laughed. It was open and gleeful - but also with a note of mockery, it seemed to Fili.

"Is that what it is? Is that what you keep asking about?" She gave him a disbelieving look. "You are pitying me! You think I'm treated cruelly!"

"Are you not?!" Fili didn't know how he moved closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. "He might not abuse you, but it's no way to treat one's wife! You deserve better… You're too… precious!"

"I am precious to Thorin," she answered quietly but firmly, and shifted. He didn't release her shoulder.

"He is neglectful! He's always been like that. Everything else has always been more important to him than us! The crown, the Quest, and then..."

"And then me and Thror," she finished his thought, and jerked from under his hand.

"No, not you two! Just his new life, his boats, his trade!"

"You don't know anything!" She was now speaking louder too, and her chin flew up haughtily. "You just see what you want to see, in your hurt pride, and your loneliness! You're an abandoned boy, who is just as hasty to judge as his brother!" She took a few steps away, and turn her back to him. "I thought you better..."

"Why are you defending him? Stop it!" He lunged and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. "Just be honest, and admit it! You'd be better off without him!" An almost pleading note slipped into his voice. She whipped her face, and he saw angry slits of bright green eyes.

"And with you?" she hissed.

"No! Just…" His mind thrashed, and then he exclaimed, "I can help you! Just let me help you! I'll take care of you!"

"I don't want your help!" That was almost an angry scream. "And you don't actually want to give it! You just want to prove you're better than him! It would have been more honourable and brave, if you just wanted me as a woman! But you just want to save me! You don't know anything about my life! And my marriage!" She suddenly pushed him, her small hand as much as punching him in the center of his chest, and he stumbled back, letting go of her arm. "It's you who has to have an honest look at his life, not me!"

She then swirled on her heels, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Hours later Wren was still lying in bed, her eyes open and dry. She'd cried a bit, but she had such pale skin that even her endlessly inattentive husband would have noticed the redness and puffiness if she'd indulged for longer; and she couldn't have Thorin suspect the evening went poorly. He'd misinterpret and get angry. He so often did.

Her mind swung between replaying the conversation she had had with Fili, and coming up with new and new answers to him. And then she would once again agree that she had said all the right things. She didn't owe him an explanation.

She could have told him how Thorin spent every possible minute in the rooms with her; how he seemed to have directed all his focus into pampering and spoiling her. And a focused Thorin was a force of nature! He read to her, played chess with her; they had never talked so much before, just about every little thing that came to mind. He was loving and passionate in their marital bed. He was, Maiar help her, playful and flirtatious these days - as much as Thorin Oakenshield could be playful and flirtatious. She'd never been happier in her marriage. She didn't care where they were, and whom she was surrounded by. Wren was happy.

It was strange to find out - and so abruptly - that she was perceived as a victim, a miserable wife in a horrid marriage, as much as forgotten in her room; possibly even mistreated. It was perhaps her paleness, and the nausea that she hid the reason for, that were the signs Fili had misread.

She heard the parlour door open slowly, with a creak. Judging by very careful steps, and the purposeful avoidance of furniture that Wren guessed by sounds, Thorin was drunk. He was a funny drunk, which Wren secretly adored. He showed little to none inebriation during revels, just growing quieter and as if darker in the face; and then once he'd be in the seclusion of their rooms, he'd crumble into a heap of awkward movements and ridiculous guffaws. At the moment he was worried to wake her up; but if they were both awake, he'd be behaving like a tot who'd had too much sweets before bedtime. A few times before, there might have been raspberries blown into her stomach involved.

He slowly pushed the door, and started squeezing in through an unnecessary narrow opening. Wren pondered pretending to be asleep - he would just crawl into bed; sigh a few times, probably lamenting lack of loving he'd receive; and promptly fall into slumber. But she was agitated, and in recent moons she'd grown accustomed to seeking support and warmth in Thorin - more than she had before. She loved and desired him just as much now; she'd learn to trust and rely on him more.

"Thorin?" she asked into darkness and heard a chuckle, which could have been called a giggle, if his voice could allow him giggles.

"Did you expect someone else?" His tone was merry, not a shadow of true jealousy in it.

"Maiar, no, you're more than enough," she answered, and he emitted a snorty chortle. He then probably walked into a trunk, judging by a thud and a hiss. "Why don't you light up a candle?" she said. "We are both obviously awake."

"It's alright. I know where everything is," he answered; and then his shin met the low bench near his side of the bed, and a short and rude saying in Khuzdul fell from his lips. Wren shook her head, and smiled.

He was on the bed and under the covers in an instant, already in his undergarments; and he rubbed a scorching palm to her hip.

"How are you faring tonight?" he asked in a low purr. If he thought he was cunning in his clumsy seduction, he was wrong.

"I've had a bad day," Wren answered to her own surprise.

The heavy hot hand switched from stroking to amicable patting of her buttock.

"I'm sorry to hear it." It was as much as he could manage in terms of sympathy on everyday basis, but it still helped. She moved closer and curled into the familiar body. The warm, rough skin; the coarse chest hair, the way she could tuck her feet under his calves - everything she knew and loved brought relief.

"What can I do?" he asked, and Wren smiled into the skin of his shoulder. That was a new habit of his - asking instead of commanding. She quite enjoyed it. She knew he still had physical love on his mind - her left leg was bent, and she could feel the hard length under her thigh - and his attempt in addressing her disgruntlement was only more precious.

"You can rub my back," she said, and then giggled and hid her face into his shoulder. "And then a bit lower."

"That I can do," he answered eagerly, and she burst into a small laughter. "Oh, before that..." He shifted, and their eyes met. "My cousin Dain Ironfoot is arriving in two days. There will be a feast, and..." He trailed away, and Wren sighed.

"And you want me to come down for the revels?"

"He's family, Wren." He kept any sort of reproach or demand out of his tone, but Wren had learnt him well - he wanted her to join the feast.

"Alright, I will come down. I think… perhaps it's time to let others know about the babe. It's out of imminent danger now." Wren's hand habitually slid onto her yet flat stomach.

She could see his white teeth glimmer in the darkness.

"Thank you, my heart," he murmured, and pulled her closer. She arched into him, seeking his lips, and finding them with familiar ease. His hand splayed on her back, wonderfully hot; and she felt it move in soft circles. He did know what she loved.

Wren smiled into the kiss, and then moved away slightly, and grabbed him around the back of his neck. "Oh, move it down already," she grumbled in a feigned irritated tone, to which he guffawed and gave her backside a hearty squeeze.

"Much better," Wren approved, and rolled him on his back, and climbed on him.

He might not be good at soothing one's worries with words, but he surely knew what to do to make her feel better.

* * *

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Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	26. Fear Me

**This chapter is short, but I decided it should be posted on its own.**

* * *

Dis walked the Western High passage, when on one of the few balconies left unsealed for the winter she saw her brother's wife. The redhead was bundled in fur collared cloaks, her hands hidden in a large muff. It had heavily snowed the night before; but nonetheless the woman was outside. A narrow path had been shovelled, probably especially for her. Dis pressed her lips in disdain. Not only the woman had some odd habits; she felt she could aggravate others with her whims. Surely, whoever was tasked with the cleaning could have used their time more appropriately.

It was the first time Dis had seen the woman in almost two moons; and she was not going to waste the chance.

She walked out on the balcony too. The air was crisp and small flakes swirled in it. Dis stopped in front of the redhead, making sure to look relaxed and proud. She was a daughter of Durin, she didn't need any furs.

The unpleasantly slanted eyes met Dis'.

"Good day, sister," Dis greeted the woman, giving her a small smile. "Enjoying the weather?"

"Good day." The gaze of the redhead was guarded, Dis noted with vindictive pleasure. The girl was scared of her, and for good reason. After months of annoyance Dis felt gleeful at the thought of having the girl at her mercy.

"I have not seen you for so long, sister. How are you faring?" Dis started her advance.

"Quite well, thank you."

Dis quite hated the quiet voice, with a strange lilt to it; and this feigned obedient look. Altogether, the woman looked sickly and weak; even for one from Men, she was too pale, and too bony. Dis could crush her with one blow.

"Will we see you at the feast in two day's time? Our dear cousin Dain is coming from the Iron Hills, and there will be a big celebration. Thorin and him are very fond of each other, having fought so many battles together." Not that the girl could understand it, Dis thought.

"I will be there," the woman answered, her voice even quieter now. She was looking down at the silver fox muff. Dis once again asked how in Mahal's name Thorin ended up with this yellow-belly by his side. The skin on the bridge of the woman's nose and on the cheekbones seemed almost translucent, so white, with bright orange specs glowing on it. Dis could almost see the chicken bones underneath it.

Dis gave out a long sigh, and started, "I just wish to warn you of something, sister." She paused, and the woman finally looked up at her. The yellowish-green eyes were alarmed, and Dis schooled her face into a concerned frown. "Dain Ironfoot isn't the most… considerate of men. He tends to be abrupt, even rude. In times when others would stay quiet, out of politeness or when afraid to offend, he will… voice the opinions others keep hidden. And sometimes, of course, he would say things he thinks others harbour but do not say." Dis stepped closer to the girl and patted her forearm under layers of fabric. That was the first time they had touched. Up close, the woman was even more short of looks. "Please, do not take his words close to your heart. Not everyone will agree with them, but they will be boorish and uncivilized, most likely.

The woman gave Dis a long studying look, and then slowly moved her arm away, from under Dis' hand.

"I know you hate me." The redhead's tone was calm, almost melancholic. And then she tilted her head like some strange bird. Dis' breathing hitched. "How painful it must be for you, to keep it inside. Like a catarrh growing in you." And then the eyes narrowed, growing bright green, and a cold smile touched the red lips of the redhead's mouth. "I do not envy you, Dis, daughter of Thrain. It's a torturous life."

She then lifted her chin and gave Dis a look down. Something regal flashed in the angular features.

"You hate me because you think I'm an undeserving wife for your brother. But mostly, you hate me because you think I took him away from you and your sons. You are wrong. I saved him. I am the reason he lives." The woman's voice was gaining strength. "You think I stole him from you, but without me he'd die in that icy water. And no, you cannot have him back. He's no possession for you to reclaim." The last phrase was sharp like a blow of a whip. "We were fortunate enough to meet, and to live through each other."

"And he's mine now," she continued, and suddenly took a step forward, and Dis didn't know why she recoiled from the slip of the girl. "You wish you had been his saviour. You wish you had nursed him to health, and then governed him just as you govern your sons."

The smirk on the red lips was now venomous, and even a scornful snortle escaped.

"And know that, Dis, daughter Thrain. I might be young, and daft, and unworldly, but I see right through you!" She pointed her index finger right into Dis' face! "You hope that ghastly cousin of yours will come and stomp me into dirt! And perhaps he will! But I'm done hiding in my rooms! I have recovered, I have gained strength, I have grown closer to my husband! And I trust Thorin enough - to be on my side now! He was an excellent ally in our previous life - and he will prove just as good now, here, in Erebor, among your kin, with all your contempt towards me, your veiled insults, your sneers! Watch your back, Dis." Suddenly the woman bared her teeth, and a feral grin was frightful. "I'm out of my rooms now, and I'm the wife of Thorin Oakenshield. Fear me."

She then squared her shoulders, and walked by Dis, slowly and with head held proud.

And then she stopped at the door and looked back at Dis, who followed her with widened eyes.

"And also, I want you to hear it from me. Others, just as you have just said, might not voice opinions in Erebor, but I will speak openly. I know it was you who has arranged the King's and the Prince's lives. And what an abominable job you'd done! You broke the King up with his bride, and married her out to the younger brother. You made all three of them miserable - and there's nothing in this world you can do to fix it. It's to be the blame and the shame that will lie on you until the day you die. And Dwarves do have long lives, Dis." And with a nod, and the words, 'Remember it,' the girl was gone.

Dis expected her usual anger, her righteous indignation when being accused of some follies, to rise quickly as always - but instead she stood, her skin prickling in the frost, her heart like a painful block of ice in her chest.


	27. Who Says That?

Thorin came into his rooms humming, and found Wren sitting on a bench in the parlour, still in her cloaks and furs, although it'd been several hours since she was to be back from her walk. The collars were open, but that fur thing she hid her hands in was still on her lap. She also appeared pale and glassy eyed, as if intently peering into an empty wall in front of her.

"Wren?"

"I screamed at your sister," she stated in a dull tone.

"You what?" Thorin asked with a chuckle.

"I screamed at your sister," she repeated in exactly the same manner, blinked, and finally looked at him. Her eyebrows were raised in a shocked expression. "I don't know what came over me… I just stood there, and she was sneering, and giving me that fake concern, and I just snapped…" She pressed her hands to her cheeks, and Thorin tried to muffle another chortle but failed. She didn't seem to notice. "It was most ludicrous! The things I said… no one speaks like that! People sing these ridiculous proclamations in bathetic ballads! No one is their right mind would say this rubbish!"

Thorin gave her a smile, stepped to her, and kissed the silky, sweet smelling crown of hair.

"I'm certain you're exaggerating."

"I'm not!" she exclaimed, and stared at him with bewildered eyes. "You weren't there. You can't imagine! I don't know what came over me…" she repeated, and started shaking her head.

"What did you say?" Thorin asked, his voice starting to shake from laughter. He understood she was agitated, but her current odd behaviour was also a tad amusing.

"I said… Maiar help me, when I think back at it! It was like I was reading from some horrible maudlin book!" She suddenly started jerking off her furs, apparently finally noticing how hot she was. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was making frustrated little noises. "I said that you were not her property, or possession, or something of the sort! And that she was not to govern your life!"

"Well, I'm not, and she isn't," Thorin answered merrily, but she interrupted him with a loud groan.

"Of course not, but who voices these things?! Oh Maiar... I said you were mine! I actually said to your sister you were mine!" Thorin boomed a guffaw.

"That's very flattering."

"It's not!" She jumped to her feet and made a small circle around the room. "It's exactly the sort of thing a hysterical woman affected by her expectancy would say. Oh… So embarrassing..." She finally untangled out of the last layer of her outer clobber, and threw it on a bench. "And the rest! Maiar help me, the rest is even worse. All the self-righteous, pompous, overbearing blathering I poured onto her. I had been smart before to avoid interacting with your family!"

"I'm sure Dis didn't see anything wrong with your self-righteous and pompous words," Thorin dismissed with a smile. "They say she had wept at my funeral so desperately that they feared for her sanity." He made a scoffing sound. "She's very much fond of dramatic proclamations."

"But I am not! Maiar be my witness, I know I'm prone to them, but that was bad even for me!" She pushed her hands into the disheveled curls and ruffled them frantically. "I said I saved your life, and something in the lines of her staying away from it."

Thorin was sitting on the bench now, while she paced in front of him.

"You did save my life. You were the one who noticed me in the river..."

"Oh please, stop being so reasonable," she pleaded with a pitiful expression. "It makes my behaviour with her seem only more foolish and appalling."

She made a frustrated 'ugh' sound and sat near him on the bench. A few moments later another 'ugh' followed, even more anguished. Apparently more memories returned.

"Oh no..." she muttered, and hid her face in her hands again. "I cannot believe it… I've just remembered..."

He threw her an amused side glance.

"Yes?" he drew out encouragingly.

"I said..." She groaned. "I said, 'Fear me...' I actually said, 'I am the wife of Thorin Oakenshield,' and then something about not hiding in my rooms anymore, and then 'Fear me...' I wonder if even a wizard would think I was bumptious."

Thorin's shoulders were shaking, and he hid his mouth behind a fist. She continued mournful groaning.

"And what did she answer?" he asked after a moment.

"Nothing. I left. I was all regal, and cold, and long suffering but full of dignity…" Wren made a small disgusted mocking grimace. "And I marched away… Oh Maiar..."

"Like I said, I bet Dis didn't find your behaviour that much out of the ordinary. Sounds like an average conversation for my sister."

"I just don't know how to carry out near your kin! I can't find my footing, and I behave like a child. Their emotions worry me, I feel like I need a bath after speaking to them... As if they were crawling under my skin… I start telling them what they want to hear, as if in their voices..." He gave her a soft sympathetic pat on the shoulder. It was all very vague and he didn't care much for this discussion, but she was obviously upset, so he just sat with her.

"Your cousin is arriving, and they all say he will not approve of me, and I'm fearsome..." she whispered, and Thorin threw her a surprised look.

"What are you afraid of? And it doesn't matter what Dain approves of. He will behave, worry not. I'll make sure of it."

Wren sighed, and he saw her tangle and untangle her little fingers. Thorin ran out of reasonable things to say, and cared not for unreasonable ones; he shortly wondered if he had fulfilled his duty of an attentive husband now and could leave. Wren sighed mournfully again.

"They drive me mad, your family… At least yesterday with Fili I think I behaved right..." Thorin whipped his head and peered into her face. She continued pensively, "I just ended that ridiculous conversation, and left, and didn't do any… proclaiming..."

"What ridiculous conversation?" Thorin could hear the tension in his own voice.

His sharp question shook Wren out of her muttering and chewing her lips, and she looked up at him.

"It was nothing..." she whispered.

"What conversation, Wren?"

"Oh, please, do not read too much into it," she begged, and Thorin clenched his jaw. He could use a direct answer to his question at the moment. "At least his intentions were good, unlike your sister's. As mad as my behaviour had been, the essence of what I said to her was right. She did try to hurt me, and to frighten me, and she surely should have stayed out of her sons' lives, and when she said..."

"I don't care about Dis," Thorin interrupted her. "What conversation with Fili?"

"He…" She sighed, and continued grudgingly, "He was worried I was unhappy in Erebor."

"It's none of his concern," Thorin barked. "My wife's happiness is my business."

"Your wife's happiness is your wife's business." Only when he heard her irked answer, he thought of looking at her. She didn't look pleased. "That is exactly why I said nothing to him. I'm no one's property to..." She then stopped and puffed air out through rounded lips. "See? The proclamations again. Maiar, what is wrong with this Mountain? Everyone seemed to be in the middle of a childish tantrum." Suddenly she pointed at his nose with her little index finger. "Even you! You're normally as sensitive as a log in a fireplace; but here, even you roar and… Moons ago, you had a punching match with your sisterson! And then you started packing all of a sudden! And then you were mumbling something about me being different, and then…" And then evidently she arrived at a revelation. "You were jealous of him! You're jealous of him! Of Fili, of all people!" She then froze with her mouth half open, her eyes fixed on his face in a flabbergasted expression.

"What do you mean 'of all people?'" Thorin snapped. "He lusts after you!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Wren scoffed; and Thorin, who was heating up and preparing to - as she called it - roar, stopped mid inhale. "He thinks I'm a mistreated pitiful creature that needs saving. It's my fault of course. All those careless sad conversations I led with him... I should have kept my mouth shut. All of you, this whole family are so confused and frightened of your own passions that it all comes out in some preposterous kerfuffles and outbursts! He is in love with Torunn. He's just so threatened by you, he can't think straight!"

That was surely too convoluted and irritating for Thorin to sort out that he just got up and was planning to stomp out into the bedroom, when he remembered what she'd just said.

"I am as sensitive as a log in a fireplace?" he asked, and they looked at each other. And then she snorted. And indeed, it was funny.

An instant later they both were laughing, and he sat down again, and pressed his shoulder into hers.

"Thorin, what are we doing here?" she asked, and gave his shoulder a bump. "Once the babe is big enough and it's safe to travel, could we please go home? This place is driving everyone mad. The King is worried you'll snatch his crown, like a child with a shiny rattle. His brother seems on the verge of a conniption at all times, while lurking through passages. Your sister is circling the halls like a crow. I just want to be… us again. I want our house, and my infirmary, and my kitchen with herbs, and jars… and our bed, and to see the merchants arrive with the goods..."

To think of, it did sound very nice. Thorin thought of early mornings when the mist crawled in the docks; and the simple feeling of satisfaction when all the numbers in the registry books added up; and the pleasant tiredness after evening training; and the he thought that the new child needed a cot; and the carpenter in the village had that oak set aside especially for such possibility.

"After Dain's visit, and once the road sets… we'll go."

"That is a very wise decision, my lord," she said in a feigned obedient tone, and he gave her an equally fake glare. She giggled and hid her face in his shoulder.

She then straightened up and exhaled funnily rounding her cheeks.

"I'm so embarrassed… Perhaps, I indeed should just stay in the rooms till it's time to leave. Maiar forbid, I'd grow into habit of enjoying these dramatic exchanges…"

"That would be a calamity," Thorin gave her a cheeky smile. "That would be like living with my sister again." He kissed her cheek. "But you're coming to the feast when Dain arrives, aye?"

The answer to him was another groan.


	28. Ironfoot

Torunn was quite surprised to receive an invitation to a small celebratory dinner five days later. It was a greeting feast for the arrival of Dain Ironfoot; and Torunn twirled the parchment in her hands.

"What is it, namad?" her younger sister Torva asked, sticking her nose where it didn't belong, as was her habit.

"An invitation for dinner to the Royal Halls."

"Oh, with the King?" The voice of the nonsensical girl grew breathy.

"Aye, and with Lady Dis, and the King's Uncle, and his viper of a wife," Torunn bit back, stuffed the parchment into her desk drawer, and stomped out of the room. She had been in quite a dark mood these days. Torva continued blathering something behind her, but Torun was having none of it.

What was the point of going, she thought - to see the King ogle the treacherous redhead? To see Lady Dis glare daggers at everyone at the table? Or perhaps to enjoy the company of Lady Ingva, the King's former paramour and now his brother's wife?

She had a day to think it over, which she spent barking at her engineers, and then apologizing. She was almost certain she would not go, but then another note came with a courtier to her study in the Forge Halls. It was from the King, with 'Hope to have the pleasure of seeing you tonight,' in his angular confident handwriting. Torunn stuck her tongue at the parchment, crumpled it, and threw it into the hearth. The cursed piece of paper emitted a satisfying huff, and died in agony.

Eventually, she put on her most provocative dress; asked her maid to brush her hair additional hundred of times, to make it even glossier and smoother; put on her mother's best jewellery; and headed to the Royal Halls.

"You look so fierce I expect you to be hiding your favourite throwing knives in that bodice," her mother commented when Torunn passed her in the parlour. Torunn couldn't help but snort.

"I'm not fierce. I am feeling... disagreeable."

"As always," her mother answered, with a warm laugh, and kissed Torunn's cheek. "Show them the fires of Mahal's forges."

Torunn winked in response, picked up her skirts, and headed out, with her head held high.

* * *

In a small parlour, they all stood around a large fireplace, with glasses in their hands, talking. Lord Dain was not there yet, but the rest of the good company was there - Lord Thorin, his wife, his sister, and her sons, Lords Balin and Dwalin; and of course Lady Ingva. Torunn had never met her. She had to say both Heirs of Durin had an excellent taste. Lady Ingva was a beauty, given she looked exhausted and mournful - Torunn remembered that Lady Ingva has just born Lord Kili's son, and they said the delivery was complicated. A long journey from the Blue Mountains with a small babe couldn't have been easy, either. There was something weak and helpless in her appearance.

The King stepped forward and stretched his hand to Torunn in greeting. "You came. It's such a joy to have you here!" Torun wondered if he was mocking her, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"The pleasure is all mine," she drew out.

Soon everyone was pretending to enjoy an amicable conversation, each acting just as Torunn had expected. Wren clung to her husband's arm. She was looking pale. The Dwarf was oblivious to anything. Lady Dis would give death stares to the redhead, her older son, her brother, and Lady Ingva in turns. The latter would twitch, and take another sip from her glass to hide the forlorn expression on her thinned wan face. Kili drank too much, and was trying to engage Lord Dwalin in a conversation about 'the glorious Quest for Erebor.' Lord Balin was softly saying something to Wren.

And then the doors flew open, and Lord Ironfoot stomped in.

"Cousin! Cut my beard and use it as a washcloth! You bastard!" He rushed in, and grabbed Lord Thorin around his middle. The embrace was so fervent that it seemed Lord Thorin's feet had left the ground at least twice. "You old dog, what is this rubbish about you hiding for ten years, and coming back with a wife and a sprog? I thought the King had gone mad here!" He clapped his hand to Lord Fili's shoulder.

"You could have let us know! A small letter would suffice, you swine!" he continued roaring. Apparently, Lord Ironfoot didn't require any response to his shouts. "So, where is she? And the boy! I need to see the boy!"

And then Lord Ironfoot looked around the room. His eyes predictably lingered on Torunn. She waited for the explosion with vengeful glee.

"Wren," Lord Thorin said, and wrapped his arm around the redhead's shoulder. "This is my cousin, Lord Dain Ironfoot of the Iron Hills."

And here Torunn was not disappointed. Lord Ironfoot eyes roamed the woman's small frame, and his orange moustache bristled.

"Are you mad, cousin? She's a Long One, and a twig for that matter. It's like a bug in a dress!"

The silence rang in the room, and Torunn watched Wren's face grow red.

"You need to show Lady Wren some respect, Uncle," the King's low voice came, and everyone looked at him. He looked positively livid.

"What? Why are you the one grabbing an axe, boy?" Ironfoot asked, and then squinted one eye. "What's in it to you?"

"Good question," Lady Dis muttered, making sure everyone heard her.

"What is it, sister?" Ironfoot turned his face to her. "Speak up! What venom are you spraying there?" Lady Dis' opulent chest heaved in an indignant gasp. Torunn was enjoying her evening more and more with each passing moment.

"And this one?" Ironfoot asked. Torunn was finally noticed, it seemed - or more precisely acknowledged, since it was impossible not to notice her in this dress, and with this cleavage. "Tell me it's that Ingva you two have been fighting over like mad dogs?" Lady Ingva made a small sad noise. Torunn had trouble stifling a laugh. "Or to be honest, you were the pups whose mother decided who gets the bone."

The King made a small step forward, his fist clenched.

"Why are we tolerating these insults?" Kili asked in a voice trembling with rage.

"They aren't insults, if they are true," Lord Dwalin suddenly boomed; and Torunn whipped her head to look at him. She knew he'd never been fond of Lord Dain - but here he seemed to agree with the Dwarf wholeheartedly.

"This is Lady Torunn, daughter of Andvari," Lord Balin stepped in, diplomatic as always. He reminded Torunn of those narrators that show up at the end of puppet plays for children, to explain the moral of the story. "She's an engineer in charge of the renovations of the Erebor forges."

Lord Ironfoot took Torunn's hand and shook it firmly. She saw an approving masculine twinkle in his eyes, and she gave him a small bow.

"I've met your grandfather, Frar. A jolly good forge master he was. And your grandmother, Agda, was it? What an excellent smith." Torunn smiled wider. "Something tells me this one chooses herself, isn't she?" Ironfoot threw to Lady Dis, and walked to the table with drinks. Torunn sipped her mead.

"So, your boy, Thorin? Where is he?"

"Thror is in his rooms. You shall meet him tomorrow, at breakfast," Lord Thorin said calmly.

"Thror, eh? What would the old king say to it?" Lord Ironfoot said.

"That I was fortunate to father a child at my old age." Lord Thorin apparently remained unruffled by his cousin's words. The King didn't.

"Shouldn't Lord Dain choose his words more carefully?" Lord Fili gritted through his teeth.

"Oh Maiar, it's all my fault," Wren breathed out; and Torunn almost rolled her eyes. Not everything was about the redhead, surely. "I shouldn't have shared my worries..." Her voice dropped to whisper, and then died out completely, while the lips continued moving.

"Are you peeking into another man's drams, Fili?" Ironfoot took a generous swig of his beer. "I don't see Thorin rushing to shield his slip of a _yusth_!"

"While he should be!" Fili snapped, and turned an enraged pale face to his Uncle. "But it seems you care not, Uncle," he sneered, and Lord Thorin took a step forward as well.

"Oh please, no..." Wren whispered.

"You just keep quiet," Lady Dis hissed at her. "It is all your fault! And you're making it only worse!"

"Stay out of this, _namad_!" Lord Fili growled, keeping his eyes locked with Thorin's.

"Have you gone rabid, the two of you?" Ironfoot boomed a disdainful laugh. "To fight over this _urm_!" Torunn wondered if Wren knew the word. After all, 'worms' would hardly be discussed in those history volumes she was studying. "Good thing, the marriage doesn't count! Just a joke it is, nothing more!"

That was when Lord Thorin swirled and placed a crushing blow into his cousin's jaw. Lady Ingva gasped loudly. Lord Fili stood taking sharp inhales. Kili's eyes were shifting between the participants, widened and tense.

"I'll tell you one thing, cousin," Lord Ironfoot muttered, wiping blood from the broken lip off his beard. "You haven't gone frail from age, that's for certain." He then turned to the King. "Do you want to take a swing too, boy? You seem to care a lot what is said about the lass."

Muscles danced on the King's jaw, but he didn't move. Wren was inspecting Thorin's knuckles, dabbing them with her handkerchief.

"What is wrong with you all?" Lady Ingva suddenly exclaimed, and wriggled her white hands in front of her.

"Calm down, Ingva," Kili finally found someone to order around - and pay attention to him, for that matter. "It is just jesting."

"Is it now?" Ironfoot scoffed. "I was dead serious. A sickle wean, and from Men? No match for an Heir of Durin. And no decorum will tell me to shut my gob about it."

"Will another punch shut it?" Lord Thorin asked. He looked both amused and enraged at the same time.

"I'd rather have some of that stew your sister is so proud of. Alright, Dis?" Ironfoot then grabbed his mug from the floor where it had flown when he was hit; and he walked into the adjoin dining room.

"Could I go back to my room?" Lady Ingva asked in a weak voice, but everyone else was already following the honourable guest. Torunn finished her drink and hurried up.


	29. Ingva

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As much as Fili would like to later blame his behaviour on the mead, of which he had surely consumed plenty, he had to admit that such excuse would be only partially true. He wished to feel inebriated, to cross that threshold, to shake off the shackles of propriety and strict upbringing - and let his mind be known.

The dinner started in the perfectly civil manner, just as many of his family dinners had - tense silence; discreet looks; veiled insults.

Wren was hiding her eyes, down to her plate. Fili's mother was glaring, hoping to pick up a fight with someone - no doubt to blame them later. Kili kept sipping his wine, and feeling sorry for himself. Ingva hardly touched her meal.

Fili's eyes would stray to Torunn from time to time. He realised suddenly what it was that drew him to her. She was unburdened by any old grievances and unsolvable strifes. She carried no grudge. She was angered with him of course - and he was no idiot to misunderstand why. He had behaved unseemly last time they had met. He'd dismissed her, ignored her - for the sake of snatching another minute with Wren. What woman would forgive this? What Dwarf would?

And yet he felt it was easier to breathe when he'd think of her at the moment - angry with him and not afraid to show it - as opposed to the pale Wren, who had just endured Dain Ironfoot's multiple insults without a word in response; or Kili who had mistreated Ingva, the only person who allowed him; or Thorin who seemed to notice nothing and care about nothing.

"The roads had set by now," Thorin announced seemingly addressing the chunk of roasted mutton on his plate. He then turned to Wren and gave her a small smile. "After this visit, we will be heading home."

"That's wise," Balin immediately chimed in, as if he'd been waiting for a cue in a street carnival play. And then he launched into discussion of the state of the roads and which route would be the safest.

Dwalin joined in. Thorin then shortly alluded to _his_ boats, _his_ companies of merchants, and _his_ guards he'd been training for _his_ trade. Fili had been attuned to Thorin's tones for years, and he didn't miss the note of pride in the Dwarf's voice. Fili wondered if Ironfoot would jump at the opportunity to point out how unseemly exchanging a Kingdom to a pitiful trading company of Men had been for an Heir of Durin - but the red haired Dwarf seemed to be busy with a lamb joint he was gnawing. So, what they had all thought since the day Thorin had arrived to Erebor would seem to stay eternally unspoken.

"So, are we done with exchanging biting remarks then?" Fili asked into the ceiling, dangling a goblet between his middle finger and the thumb. He knew he was stirring trouble - and he revelled in it. It was immature, petty, and malicious - and Mahal help him, he was going to enjoy it! "Are we to lead amicable conversations about trade and weather now?"

"Not exactly my brand of steel that would be," Ironfoot drew out, and took a gulp of his beer. "What do you want to talk about, laddie? Thorin's little lass I reckon?" The Dwarf was drunk, but not yet completely inarticulate. Fili scowled and saluted him with his glass.

"Oh for Maiar sake's..." Wren muttered at the background.

"Well, Wren here is indeed the topic of the evening," Dis quipped; and Fili saw Thorin slowly put down his fork. Fili wondered if once again his Uncle would refrain from interfering - and whether Wren would allow another to stomp her into dirt now. He felt rage rise in him again. Why hadn't she stood up for herself? He knew she could! Or she could have turned to him - or at least Thorin - for support. Why sit, wan and clearly upset, and say nothing?

"What say you, Ingva? It is nice for once not to be the woman discussed," Kili said quietly, as if addressing only his wife. Ingva jerked as if he'd slapped her.

And Fili rose, came up to his brother, and jerked him up, to his feet, by his collar. And then, just as he'd dreamed for a dozen years, he placed a full blown hit to his jaw.

People jumped to their feet; Ingva cried out in anguish; Balin seemed to rush to Fili and grab his shoulder - Fili didn't see much, but just the bloodied lips of his brother.

Kili lunged into a counterattack, swaying his fists, his face distorted in rage. He would always go blind and deaf to reason when provoked.

"Fight me, c'mon!" he yelled into Fili's face. Someone held Fili back, while Dwalin was twisting Kili's arm back. "You've always been jealous of me! For stealing her from you!"

"You're a bloody moron!" Fili spat back. "You didn't steal her! You picked up what Mother told you to! Always listening like a good boy! Never deciding for yourself!"

"Please, stop!" Ingva sobbed out.

"Leave your brother alone!" Their mother of course didn't miss a chance to command - and to protect her poor, wounded youngling.

"Always him! Always Kili!" Fili sneered at her, whipping his head, feeling almost hatred towards her. "You decide for all of us! Ingva was not good for me; she got sent away. But they were a match, weren't they, mother? Well, look how well it worked out! He drinks; she is like a spectre."

"Don't you dare speaking to me like that!" Dis' voice grew shrieky. "I've had enough of these preposterous accusations from this whore!" She pointed her finger at Wren, without looking.

"Watch it, Dis," Thorin's voice boomed.

"Oh stop it! Stop it, all of you!" Ingva screamed. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and started slowly bending, keeling ahead. Wren supported her and seated her on the nearest chair.

"You're right!" Ingva's voice shook and broke. She lifted her eyes, red rimmed and pained, at Fili. Wren was making quiet comforting noises. "Alright? I had made a mistake! Not leaving you, that was right! I wouldn't have made a good wife for you. But marrying him…"

"It's alright, it's alright," Wren mumbled quietly, and pushed a glass into the crying woman's hands. "Don't think of it now! Drink."

Fili stared at Ingva's shaking hands. She was so thinned that he could see blue veins on the previously beautiful round hands.

Kili, who'd by then jerked out of Dwalin's hold, heavily sat on a chair and dropped his face into his hands.

"Well, these two are done with," Ironfoot remarked at the background. "Thorin, cousin, isn't it your turn to polish some knuckles?"

"I thought I already had," Thorin grumbled, pouring more wine into the goblet Wren then pushed towards Ingva.

"Not to my clock, you muppet. The King here is clearly pissing into your forge hearth."

Fili clenched a fist. To think of it, a good punch up with Thorin would be most welcome. After all, they never did finish that very first one.

"What's in it for you, Dain?" Thorin asked, straightening up.

"Well, I reckon the boy would never tell you how betrayed we all feel. We mourned you, honoured you; and here are you are back from the dead, with a Long one in tow. I told you as much; your sister doesn't count," he remarked, and Fili saw his mother bare her teeth. "But the bairns surely would like to know why they weren't considered worthy of knowing you were alive."

Thorin gave Dain a long studying look, and then just turned away and went back to his seat.

"So, what is your story then, lass?" Ironfoot directed him attention to Torunn now. She gave him an amused look.

"Leave the girl alone, Dain," Dis tried in her usual haughty tone.

"Ah, so she's here on your invitation, Dis? Matchmaking again? Life taught you nothing?" Ironfoot took a big swig from a goblet that had appeared in his hand as if by magic.

"Oh, that's interesting," Torunn drew out.

"The invitation was from me," Fili directed his words to her. He couldn't afford her to get a wrong impression. "I didn't expect the evening to be that… eventful." He gave her a smile, but she didn't return it.

"Wren, you haven't eaten," Thorin's quiet authoritative voice came from the table.

Fili looked and saw the redhead throw her husband a glance. Fili seemed to detect irritation in it. She gave a small shake of her head; and went back to whispering something to Ingva.

"We should all return to the table," Balin supplied yet another of his 'helpful' remarks. "Perhaps, all that mead in the stomachs needs soaking up."

Kili jumped to his feet. "I'm not hungry."

"Sit, Kili." Thorin's words were like a grave weight in the room; and Kili dragged his feet to his seat, pushed the chair back noisily, and slumped in it.

"Thorin," Wren called; and when he looked at her, she pointed at Ingva with her eyes. Thorin paused, obviously not sure what she meant; and then he turned to Kili.

"Perhaps, your wife needs to repose, Kili."

"Would you like to?" Wren jumped in, addressing Ingva; and then throwing Thorin an exasperated look. Fili felt like asking her if she truly had expected Thorin to show understanding or tact. She'd been married to Thorin for ten years. He had thought her smarter, Fili thought.

"Yes, please," Ingva answered weakly. She rose, supported by Wren; and then she swayed. Even in her exhausted state; she was much heavier than Wren, and the redhead pressed her hands into Ingva's shoulder. Fili shifted towards them, to help; and saw that he and Torunn were the only people who did.

Their eyes met, and for an instant Fili thought he saw the shadow of their previous kinship.

"I would like a small walk as well," Torunn muttered, rose, and joined the other two women. "We will return shortly," she added.

When passing Fili, she looked down at him; and he hoped she could see the gratitude in his eyes. Her chin was jerked up, though; and the expression on her face remained cold.

When the door behind them closed, Dain clapped his hand to his knee, "Well, while the better half of the company is away, shall we drink?"

Fili heard his mother make a disgruntled noise; and Fili smirked and grabbed the nearest jug.

 **To be continued…**


End file.
